Revenge
by judybear236
Summary: Life can throw some pretty awful stuff at you, pushing you to think of nothing more than revenge.
1. Chapter 1

**Revenge**

Erik was sitting at his organ in his lair deep beneath the Paris opera house, head in his hands, sheets of music written for the next opera production with lines crossed out scattered across the floor and the top of the organ. He was more than just the manager of the opera house, he often wrote entire operas for its performances yet just now he couldn't compose anything he felt worthy of being performed. It was good, just not good enough. The climax had to have more power to it, more sensuality, more spark. After all, this would be the grand opening of the1871 season. The box office for the year would depend largely on this production. Maybe he could…

Nadir entered uncertainly, keeping an eye on the figure at the organ.

"Don't you ever knock, Persian?" the figure asked without changing position.

"I came to offer you a respite, a challenge, if you will."

"I don't need a respite and I have more than enough challenges in my life." He looked up and evaluated Nadir's attire. "Are you going to a wedding?"

Nadir opened his coat to show Erik his suit trimmed in embroidery and removed his hat, gesturing to the intricate embroidery designs worked on the blood red colored velvet background of his brimless hat."What, this? No, just going to visit a friend. Care to join me?"

"Why would I want to do that?" he replied testily.

"Because you need a distraction, something to take your mind off of... her."

Erik turned to face Nadir, ready to tell him just what he thought of this idea when Nadir continued, "It will help. It always does."

Erik scoffed at the idea.

"Come on. You need some fresh air, a little exercise," Erik glared at him ..."I _meant_ the walk, Erik. If you want you can sit and wait until I'm ready to come home."

Nadir held out Erik's cloak and fedora. "Come on. At least a change of scenery might help you gain some perspective."

Erik scoffed again, but got up from his organ and crossed the floor with his silent panther-like stride to where Nadir was waiting. "Change of scenery, huh?" He testily donned the proffered garments and allowed Nadir to hold the door for him and left the lair. They made their way to the concealed side entry to the opera house before stepping out into the alleyway and heading for their destination several blocks away. Once out in the air, Nadir took in a deep breath and let it out before gesturing to Erik to do the same.

"Damp night air is not healthy,"

"It's healthier than that dank stuff you breathe under the opera house!"

Erik shot Nadir a look that tried to be contentious, but he knew that Nadir was right and couldn't quite pull it off. "Maybe so, but I still don't see the point of this."

"Who knows? You might find someone who appeals to you. Someone else you can rescue or train?" Nadir suggested with a smirk.

"Hardly!"

"Well, I just think…"

"And there might lay the crux of your problem. The more you talk, the more you breathe. I prefer not to breathe any more of this damp air than is absolutely necessary."

Nadir opened his mouth and turned to reply, but then thought better of it and shooting an exasperated look at Erik, continued on in silence. Erik glanced at him out of the corner of his eye and smirked, maybe lifted his chin just a bit higher.

It wasn't long before they arrived at Madam Prouvaire's Emporium, although Erik had been able to detect the sickeningly sweet aroma of cheap perfume for well over a block before they got there. When Nadir opened the door, the impact was worse than walking into the women's dressing rooms at the opera house. The smoke from all the cigarettes and cigars mingling with the perfume created an almost palpable presence in the room.

Erik turned to leave, "I'll wait outside."

"I wouldn't advise it, not in this neighborhood. Just have a seat and you'll become accustomed to it."

The only seating in the entryway was cheaply furnished gaudy plush chairs and têtê-a-têtê benches. Erik found a chair as close to the door and as far away from the activities as possible, removed his cloak and folded it in his lap, placing his hat on top. After awhile he became aware of one of the ladies paying particular attention to him. She finally approached, "Bon Soir, Monsieur. Anything I could… _do_ for you?"

He looked at her with her heavily kohled eyes and painted lips, her 'dress' appearing to be more of a night dress with a corset on top of it. "I hardly think so," he replied dryly, looking away.

"Well, I just wondered," she said in a sultry voice, coming closer, "because usually men who sit with something in their laps are covering up, shall we say, a too obvious symptom of need?"

He shot up, all but pushing her aside, "No we shall not say!" and turning red in the face went outside before donning his cloak and hat. _How dare she? How could she suggest such a thing? The nerve of her to tease a person in such a way! _He started for home, but then thought, _Maybe I should leave word for Nadi_r, and turned back. It was then that he heard a woman (or a child?) scream and a loud _thump_ coming from a side alley near him. He pulled out his Punjab lasso – he had long ago learned to never travel in these neighborhoods without it - and went in search of the sound. Presently he could hear a young woman or a child weeping and begging to be left alone. He rounded the corner and saw a young girl in a heap on the ground with a large brutish man, belt in hand, swinging at the girl. He quickly got the lasso around the man's neck and pulled him away from her. "What's going on here?"

The man turned on Erik, "None of your damned business! She belongs to me and has disobeyed me!"

"This is not how disobedience is cured! She is a woman! How dare you handle her like this!"

The man pushed Erik against the wall and pulled out a knife, not aware that the lasso was still around his neck. Erik grabbed it and jerked the lasso and heard the man's neck snap. The man crumpled like a rag doll before Erik retrieved his lasso and turned to the girl, "Are you hurt?"

She stared at the body of the man who had been beating her. "No. Not much. I've had worse. Is he dead?" She got up about to leave but collapsed back onto the street.

"I'm afraid so." He picked her up into his arms… she hardly weighed anything. "When did you last eat?"

"Uhm… I don't remember? Two days ago? Three?"

"Do you live around here? Where is your father?" Without realizing it, he had begun walking home with her. "My father?" she spit out. "I have no idea where is and I don't want to know! Who do you think brought me here?"

He looked down at this frail being. "He did what?" _The depths of human depravity never ceased to amaze him. _ "Where do you live?"

"Madam Prouvaire's Emporium," she replied quietly, afraid he would drop her and send her back. To be honest, she very much liked the feel of this man. He was so strong, and tall, and very handsome, except for that thing that covered part of his face. And when he spoke, his chest rumbled with a soft purring sound that was so soothing yet commanding.

He suddenly realized that she was trembling. "Are you cold?" he asked in as gentle a tone as he could muster. She tried to shrug, but that was hard to do without shaking even more. He set her down long enough to wrap his cloak around her before picking her up in his arms again. "Better?" She nodded and snuggled against his chest, grateful for the warmth.

"Good," he said and continued on with more determined steps toward the opera house, but turned off and took a different street. He stopped at a dressmaker's shop and rapped on the door "Do you have a name?" he asked while they waited.

"Babette."

The door opened to a diminutive woman with red hair and a slight figure wrapped in a dressing robe. "Erik! What?" she questioned as she opened the door wider so he could enter with Babette."Margot, can you take her for a few days? Get her something to eat?"

He took his cloak off of her and she began shivering again, so he put it back on her. After a glance at her skimpy and tattered dress he added, "and find her something to wear?" He reached into his pocket and gave Margot a handful of coins, then slipped his wallet and lasso into his waistcoat pockets. "Let me know if you need more." He turned to leave, then turned back, "Her name is Babette and she needs a place to stay. Didn't you say you needed some help in the shop?" He turned to Babette, "Can you sew?"

She looked from one to the other, "Well, a little.."

"Good!" he declared, "Then it's settled. I'll be back tomorrow for my cloak"

After he was gone they looked at each other, stunned.

"Well, let's get you something to eat. Would soup be alright? Maybe some bread?"

Babette's eyes widened, "Yes, Madame." and she fainted.

O0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Nadir entered Erik's lair and hung up his coat, noticing that Erik's was not there, but his hat was. _'Curious,'_ he thought before venturing further to find Erik in the same location and position as when he'd arrived earlier.

"You'll need to air out that coat before leaving it in here or the whole place will have the stench of that establishment you visited."

"And where do you suggest I do that, here in your enclosed cavern?" Nadir asked testily.

"At home. You do have one, do you not?"

"Of course I do. I only wished to ascertain that you had arrived home safely … but I couldn't help noticing…"

Erik turned to him, "Yes?"

"Your cloak appears to be missing?"

"And?"

"And… I was concerned that you may have run into trouble on your way home."

Erik looked at Nadir, knowing he was mainly being nosey, so told him as little as possible, "I loaned my cloak to someone who needed it more than I. Does that satisfy your insatiable curiosity?" He could see that Nadir was not satisfied but wasn't about to offer more information.

Nadir let out a small sigh, "Very well. But I would caution you to perhaps take it to Margot and have her clean it for you before bringing it back here. You never know what it might have picked up during its absence."

Erik turned back toward his music lest his expression give anything away and wondered whether the Persian had now learned to read minds. He sincerely hoped not, for what he was thinking was none of Nadir's business. Even though the man thought he was Erik's very conscience, Erik preferred to keep at least a few of his thoughts private. And this was one of those times.

After reading the notice in the paper a few days ago that Christine and the Vicomte had announced their betrothal, he wanted nothing more to do with women in general nor Christine in particular. If that foppish, shallow imitation of a man was what she wanted out of life, who was he to stand in her way? How could he begin to compete with someone so devastatingly handsome as Raoul? He had the looks, the breeding, the title, and the suave flirty mannerisms that could sweep any woman off her feet. His clothing could rival that of a king, not that it was to Erik's taste, yet it was attractive to women, from what he'd heard. He knew that he just wasn't in the same league. What right had he to expect that she would see in him a life-long companion, a trusted friend, a lover, someone to whom she would surrender her heart? No, it was an impossible gap to be bridged. Yes, she had been a willing and eager student, excelling in her lessons to become the diva of the opera. Hearing her voice as it soared over the heads of the opera patrons made his own heart soar with it. How could it not when he had been the one to nurture that voice?

Tonight, the cry of Babette in that lonely alley had caused something within him to stir and he wanted to compose something for her, but the pain of losing Christine was still too raw, too recent to allow him to find his music deep within. And so he sat at the organ, head in hands, waiting for the pain to subside so he could lose himself once more in his music.

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Margot got Babette up on the divan and covered her with a blanket before heading to the kitchen to prepare a rich broth. By the time the broth was ready and Margot had broken some bits of bread into it, Babette was beginning to stir, crying out against someone called Rogier and flailing her arms around. Margot had to set down the broth to keep it from being spilled. "Shush, little one. You're safe here…"

Babette suddenly swung her fist and caught Margo in the eye. Margot screamed, waking Babette from her nightmare. Babette looked at her surroundings, perplexed at the strange environment. Then she saw Margot stooping and holding her hand over her eye, tears streaming from both eyes. "Oh, NO!" she rushed to hug Margot, "Oh! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean that!"

"Oh, I know that, sweetie. Don't worry about it. Here, I brought you some broth," she said, handing her the mug with her free hand.

While Babette drank the rich broth, Margo wet a cloth in cold water and held it up to her eye, sharply drawing a breath through her teeth at the contact. Returning to the parlor she quipped, "You have quite a swing there, young lady. I would guess that you've had some practice!"

Babette looked into her mug, "Yeah. You could say that."

"Would you like a nice hot bath?" She saw Babette's blue eyes go wide and smiled. "Take your time with the broth. I'll let you know when your bath is ready."

Margot was sickened when she saw the scars and bruises on Babette's skin and made sure to be gentle in areas that appeared to be sore. The next day she found some children's dresses that fit Babette. They would have to do until she could alter something to a size small enough to fit the girl – maybe one of her own dresses? Babette turned out to be a fairly capable stitcher, and with a little tutoring Margot felt she would make a fine seamstress, but Babette didn't seem to have the initiative to pursue such a mundane line of work. She would continually ask Margot about different occupations and how much money she could make from them, but seemed dissatisfied with any of Margot's suggestions. What she didn't tell Margot was that she was comparing each occupation mentioned and the money she could possibly make with the money she could make running her own brothel. For she needed money, money for revenge.

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Over the months Erik would visit Margot's shop to have custom orders filled or to have clothing repaired, and he always asked about Babette. She was doing well, he was told, but she was often so tired that Margot began to worry about her. Her work was good, though not inspired. Erik suspected she was sneaking out at night to earn some extra cash and decided to follow her.

He waited across the alley from the dress shop until he noticed a darkly clad figure emerging and followed. He watched as she ducked into an alley and emerged transformed with her skirt hem tucked partly into a broad belt and her lace-trimmed bodice dipping low enough to reveal a goodly amount of her ample breasts, with a thin scarf draped teasingly across them. She went a few blocks before encountering a mark and took him into a nearby alley. Erik waited a few minutes before descending on them. She screamed and tried to run while the man fled, pulling up his pants as he did. Erik held her arm with an iron grip, "What are you doing?" he growled.

"Making some money!" she spat at him.

"I don't understand. You have a decent job with Margot, why would you go back to doing something where you know you can be hurt? It isn't as if you don't have a choice."

"Don't I? I earn two francs a month working for Margot. I can earn two francs a night out here, maybe more! What's more, if I could run a place like Madame Prouvaire I could earn ten times that!"

"Why?"

"What?" she asked, caught off-guard.

"I asked you, 'Why?' Why do you need to make that much money?"

She turned away from him, "Because I do."

"Not good enough. Turn around." And he pulled a hankie from his pocket and held it out to her, "Spit."

She did and he used it to rub the kohl from her eyes before holding it out once more, "Again." This time he removed the red tint from her lips. "That's better. Now, why is it you need this money?"

"Because, I want to have my own business - a bordello, a nice one."

"I thought you wanted to have your own dress shop?"

"Doesn't make enough money," she admitted.

"And so we're back to the beginning; why do you need this money?" They had been walking back toward the dress shop and now stopped so she could change her clothes. "By the way, that outfit you had on was quite fetching, in a coarse sort of way. It would look good in a stage production."

"You think so?" she asked animatedly.

"Yes I do, but that does not answer the question."

She huffed before answering, "My father. He sold me to Madame Prouvaire and Rogier because he wanted to be rid of me and join the French Foreign Legion. Once my mother had died, I had become a burden to him, an anchor, thwarting his advances on women by my mere existence."

"That was a horrible thing for him to do, and to his own daughter?"

"I want to buy infected prostitutes to send to Prouvaire's and when her business is done for, I will buy her out and build a school for poor girls to teach them useful trades, like sewing, the theater, dancing, painting, cooking… skills so they don't have to live on the streets."

"Hmm… a worthy cause, although your methods leave a lot to be desired. Why the use of infected prostitutes?'

"To lower the value of the establishment so I can afford it," she declared with the simplicity of youth.

"Hmm… perhaps there is another way…" he said thoughtfully

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Even though Christine was beyond his reach romantically, Erik still held control of the opera house, overseeing its business matters and the execution of its musical presentations. This often included Christine. He'd tried to ignore her now, and allow her to progress on her own until the day she came to see him to tell him she was leaving.

"You're WHAT?" he roared, jumping up from the piano bench in the rehearsal room and upsetting stacks of music which cascaded, unnoticed, across the floor. "You can't do that! Not now! We've been rehearsing for months, the show is due to start next week and you don't have an understudy."

"And whose fault is that?" asked another voice from the hallway.

"Raoul, please, no…"

"Why not? You are mine now, surely I can speak for you."

"That is rather presumptuous of you, Monsieur, since she is not yet legally your wife," Erik answered, barely keeping his anger under control.

"Raoul! Darling, please, stay out of this!" she pleaded with him.

"Why? So he can wheedle you into doing yet one more opera for him? Make more money for the opera, for him? You will soon be a Vicomtess and will be my wife and will no longer debase yourself by performing for all those ignorant and vile masses."

"Raoul! Stop it!" she shouted at him. "Leave us alone!"

He scoffed at that. "You expect me to leave my betrothed alone with this, this _monster_? I think not!"

Erik took a few steps closer to Raoul, within easy reach of him, when Christine stepped between them. "Stop it! Both of you!" and pressed her hands one on Erik's chest and one on Raoul's. She couldn't help noticing the difference in the feel of them. Raoul was not at all in bad shape, but he felt, well, normal. With Erik, on the other hand, she could easily feel his muscles rippling underneath the simple white shirt he wore and he felt rock hard, as if he had been lifting heavy weights. She was sure that if they came to blows that Raoul would be on the losing end.

"You lay one hand on me and I will have you imprisoned for assault!" threatened Raoul. "You will never see the light of day again!"

"Is there a problem in here?" A very large man, meaning taller than Erik, stepped into the room wearing a shirt without sleeves, displaying arms at least the size of Raoul's leg that were covered with tattoos.

"Yes, Squelch. This… _gentleman_ seems to have lost his way. I believe he was looking for the exit," Erik replied congenially while glaring at Raoul.

Squelch reached out to take Raoul's arm but Raoul pulled away angrily, then turned back to Erik, "You haven't heard the last from me, freak!" Squelch escorted him out.

Christine stared in awe at the huge man as he left with Raoul, "Who was that?"

"He is a man that I met while traveling in Normandy about a year ago. He had been arrested for vagrancy after leaving a traveling circus. We began to talk and since I needed some help with security here and he needed a job, I hired him. As it turns out, he also has a beautiful baritone voice."

"Would you like some tea?"

"No, I…" She got a defiant look in her eye, "Yes, that would be nice."

"Good. Wait right here and I'll see if I can't find Meg…" he said, stepping out into the hallway.

She pulled up a chair that was close to the piano and sat, looking through the sheets of music as she picked them up off the floor around her. "This will be a splendid production, you know," she told him when he returned.

"So long as you will sing for me," said Erik suggestively. "How is it that he has such control over you, and yet you are not wed?"

"He isn't always like that," she began, thoughtfully. "Yet at times I think he needs a dog more than a wife; someone he can order around, lord it over them, show them how powerful he is by taking command. And yet, he can be so sweet at times, so understanding, so charming…"

Erik looked at her with sadness for her situation, yet knowing that it was of her own doing. Still he longed for their old intimacy, the ability to speak freely of whatever came to mind, to laugh.

"Christine!" Meg's pronouncement jerked him from his reverie, "How nice to see you!" she exclaimed, setting down the tea tray on a nearby table."We've been so busy with the dance numbers and Mother has been a little under the weather, so I haven't seen much of you lately! How is everything?" she asked with her normal exuberance.

"Meg! Hello there!" She got up to give Meg a hug after she had set down the tea things. "Things are going very well! I'm just here to speak with Erik about the show."

"Oh! Well, then I'll leave you to that. Don't stay away too long!"

"I won't," she replied as Meg left the room.

"So…", she said pensively.

"So…," he replied with the same intonation.

"I wish I could…" they both started to say at the same time.

"Sorry," again they both spoke at the same time.

Christine lowered her head, gazing into her tea to allow Erik to speak. "Sorry."

"No need to be sorry, angel. Just say that you will stay for the run of the show."

"And how long will that be? A month? Three months? A year?"

"Does it matter? You don't seem to have any urgent plans."

She looked up at him as if wanting to say so much more. If she asked Raoul he would tell her that they had important functions to attend, 'important people' she had to meet, and engagements that he had or wanted to set up and he would have all of her time scheduled with his frivolous nonsense. She knew that if she simply told Raoul that she needed this time for the opera that he would get mad and drag her away and set up a situation where Erik would have to fight Raoul to allow her to perform. So she held back lest she say something she should not and shook her head, "No I don't." She took a deep breath and looked up into those elegant aqua eyes that held so much sorrow and so much hope. "Yes, I will."

Erik all but dropped his teacup as he leaned forward to grasp her hand, "You will? You really will?"

She nodded her head, "On one condition."

"Anything."

She looked into those eyes again. _How could she ever deny him anything when he looked at her like that? His expression was that of a man dying of thirst begging for just one drop of water from her. _ "You must promise not to antagonize Raoul."

"That's it? That's your only condition? Of course I will promise that!"

"I mean it," she threatened. "No teasing, no locking him out of his house, no pranks – no Phantom stuff!"

He got a look of innocence on his face, "Who? Me? I wouldn't think of it."

Christine tried hard not to giggle at his attempt to portray himself as innocent. "Erik! Be serious now! I mean it! Any monkey business and I will leave. Understood?"

"Of course, Christine. I would never do anything to jeopardize our relationship."

"Good. Now, what do I need to work on?"

"How much time do you have today?" he asked hopefully.''

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Three hours later Christine met Raoul sitting on the front steps of the opera house, chatting, while not amiably, at least civilly with Mr. Squelch, who had been asked to keep an eye on the Vicomte to prevent him from re-entering the opera house. "There you are, Darling! Did you have a nice rehearsal?"

"Yes. I have to be back by seven for costume fittings and I'm starved!" she declared.

Raoul pulled out his gold pocket watch, "But it's four o'clock now! How can he expect you to find a place and have a meal in such a short time?"

"It can be done, Raoul. There are many places to eat around here."

"In this neighborhood? You expect me to eat food around here?" he asked incredulously. She could see that he was becoming obstinate.

She took him by the arm and walked him to a little brasserie about two blocks away. When she turned to enter he pulled her back. "You aren't serious? Christine, do you have any idea what sort of clientele they have here?"

"Of course I do. I have eaten here often, when I have time and can afford it. The food is good, it's fast, and it's not expensive." When he hesitated, she gave his arm a playful tug, "Come on! It won't kill you to rub elbows with real people for a change!"

"Christine, I don't know what's got into you, but hanging around with these… people… has made you act vulgar, common, and I don't like it one bit."

"Raoul, this is who I am. I am not a fairy princess. Now, come in and eat with me or leave. I don't care either way, but I am hungry and am going inside."

Once inside, Christine was greeted warmly by many of the restaurant's patrons while Raoul tried to avoid touching or being touched by anyone or anything. When she sat down at a table with its red and white checkered tablecloth where two other people were already seated, he pulled her away and loudly requested, "Monsieur Garçon! A table for two, please!"

The waiter came over to them and offered them the seats Christine had just been about to take when Raoul announced, "Pardon, Monsieur. You misunderstand. I would like a table for _only_ two people."

Christine took his arm and pulled him close, "Raoul, stop this! It is a busy time. Can't you see they have no tables for two?"

"Fine. Then we're leaving." And he hauled Christine out of the restaurant.

Once outside she began walking back to the theater, saying, "Fine! Then I'll eat in the kitchen with the ballerinas. You may eat wherever you please."

"Christine. Christine! If this is what it means to be performing for the opera, then I withdraw my consent. I will not allow you to participate in such a farce!"

Christine rounded on him, "YOU will not ALLOW? Who do you think you are? You are not my lord and master! I don't think I even like you right now, Raoul!"

"Christine," he pleaded, but she turned and began climbing the steps to the theater. Others had left the same restaurant and were also returning to the theater and paused to give Raoul a 'once over' before continuing up the steps. Raoul finally demanded of one person, "What are you looking at?"

The woman replied, "I was just wondering who made your costume? It's much too gaudy for the current production. I was thinking it must be from a different theater."

"It's not from a theater, you fool, its my clothing! You obviously have no appreciation for fine workmanship!" Raoul angrily replied before turning and hailing a taxi.

**O0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o**


	2. Chapter 2

Revenge, Chapter 2

_(POV Raoul)_

Raoul climbed into the taxi_, thinking, Such crass people Christine was forced to associate with here at the theater! Such crude manners! And it's all because of that freak of a teacher of hers, that hideous monster who thinks he runs the theater, and Christine too! How dare he try to control her life! She's my fiancée, but he actually has her defying me! She's obviously under his influence. Maybe he's cast a spell over her. How else could one explain the fact that she has chosen to remain in that God-awful theater instead of attending soirees and cotillions with me? It's unheard of! He is holding her captive there at the opera house! I need to contact the __Préfet de police_._ He is a friend of Father's. Maybe he can do something!_ And he tapped on the ceiling of the taxi and told the cabby to take him to the Prefecture of Police. He looked at his watch. _On second thought, it was now too late to attempt to locate him at his office, but he knew a place where he could be found of an evening: _leSalon de The du Babette_._

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In the year since Babette had established her enterprise in the commune of Montreuil, she had been making good money because she paid her girls well, made sure they stayed healthy and kept her customers happy. It didn't hurt that Mr. Squelch regularly included her establishment in his rounds of the opera house, keeping away much of the unsavory element who might try to take advantage of the atmosphere engendered by the presence of such an establishment. Nadir became a regular visitor, as did Erik, albeit for different reasons. Nadir went for the pleasures he could find, whether it be with Babette or with someone else, although Babette was by far his favorite. Erik went for companionship and more often than not, to talk with Babette about Christine and other matters. He taught her how to play chess and she taught him how to play bezique.

This evening Erik had left the opera house and made his way to _le_ _Salon de The du Babette_ for a relaxing interlude. He and Babette were having a late dinner amidst a thoughtful game of bezique when a rather boisterous client entered the establishment, asking to see le Préfet Monsieur Fontaine. Babette left the game and closed the door to deal with him, telling the man that Monsieur Fontaine could be found at the Prefecture in the morning, but the man would hear none of it and continued to demand to see Fontaine. Eventually Babette convinced him to sit and wait to see if Monsieur Fontaine would either arrive or emerge from one of the 'suites'.

Fontaine soon came out from the guest suites in a rather disgruntled mood. "What is so urgent that it cannot wait until morning, Monsieur?"

"I believe you know my father, the Comte de Chagny? I am the Vicomte de Chagny," he said with a bit too much aplomb for Fontaine's taste.

"Yes, yes," answered Fontaine impatiently. "How can I help you?"

"As you know, my father and I are patrons of the Palais Garnier and support the Opera Populaire."

"Yes, you have told many people that. How does this concern me?"

Raoul strutted as if making an announcement to the customers and ladies waiting in the lounge, "Well, it would seem as though the manager of the Opera Populaire is holding my fiancée as a prisoner in one of the sub-basements of the Palais Garnier."

Fontaine frowned. He knew Erik and knew him to be honorable and helpful to the Police. "In what sense is she being held?"

Raoul continued to parade around, pronouncing his concerns to everyone within hearing with a smug grin on his face, "He continues to schedule activities and meetings, fittings and rehearsals for her to the extent that she has no time to accompany me to a soiree or even to dinner."

"I see… " said the Préfet. "And what is it you would like me to do about it? Tonight?"

"Nothing," Raoul replied with a smug grin.

Fontaine was livid but held back as best he could. This Fop may have been a fool, but he was still a vicomte and was due at least a modicum of respect. "You… you dragged me out here… to tell me… this? Why not come to my office in the morning, take care of your business in a more civilized manner?"

"Because I needed to speak with you while my ideas were burning inside me. Tomorrow night there will be a full dress rehearsal for the new production. Everyone will be there and this Monsieur Manager of the opera will be in attendance to see that everything goes perfectly. It would be a rare opportunity to seize him and to retrieve my poor beleaguered fiancée."

"Hmm, and how do you propose we accomplish that? Perhaps disguise ourselves as ballerinas? Or as members of the chorus?"

Erik and Babette had been listening at the door and nearly burst out laughing at Fontaine's facetious suggestion.

"Of course not!" Raoul replied, giving the Préfet a disdainful glance. "What I propose is far more diabolical! I have assembled a group of … people, shall we say? who share my views on the activities of this so-called manager and feel that he is usurping the rights of the performers and managers of the Opera Populaire to its detriment, setting himself up as a veritable slave master over them and demanding unreasonable obeisance from them. He is a hideous monster, a freak, if you will, and it is not his place to do so. He is a madman and belongs in an asylum, not an opera house."

Fontaine was becoming increasingly disturbed at Raoul's rantings. This was not just someone off the streets. The Vicomte had friends and influence, so he needed him to feel that he was being treated with respect while at the same time not completely agree to go along with his plans. "So what is it you want of me?" he asked, trying to be patient , still thinking about the young girl he had been interrupted of an evening of pleasure with in the distant room.

"I would like you to join me in a little visit to the Palais Garnier, to perhaps look around and perhaps locate this prison where my fiancée is being held. Maybe we could even release her and bring her forth with us."

Fontaine looked at him, wondering just what his game really was. Was he simply jealous of her time being spent at the opera house, engaging in rehearsals and preparing for a performance? Or was he simply jealous of her time spent with Erik? 

"I will think about it and let you know in the morning. Until then, I bid you a good night," and he turned to return to the suites.

"Monsieur le Préfet, you don't seem to have grasped the urgency of this matter. This man is a murderer, and a thief, and a kidnapper. He must be found and at the very least detained."

Fontaine turned back, "A murderer, you say? Please explain."

Raoul became even more smug, picking off an imaginary bit of lint from his coat, "Why yes, did you not know that he killed one of the stage hands during one of the rehearsals? It was about a month ago."

"Monsieur Vicomte, the death of that stage hand was ruled an accident."

"But was it really?" asked Raoul, trying to goad him further.

"Good night, Monsieur le Vicomte!" he said and turned on his heel and returned to his prior commitment in the suites of _le Salon de The du Babette_. But he could not return to his pleasures because his mind was now crowded with all the 'What ifs' Raoul had raised or intimated. _What if Erik really was a murderer? What if he had taken Christine and was holding her as a hostage until the end of the production? What if he was not the genius behind the opera's latest productions? What if there were more murders than Buquet? Whatever the possibilities, the least he would have to do was to bring a cordon of policemen to the opera house to make sure that nothing untoward took place._

_0o0o0o0o0o0o00o0o0o0o0o0_

Having overheard Raoul's pronouncement at _le Salon de The du Babette_, Erik decided to trap Raoul. He had learned from his informants in the police department that Raoul was planning to attend the closed rehearsal the following evening. By pulling his surprise finale during the dress rehearsal he wanted to get Raoul to show his hand without endangering any of the opera patrons.

He spoke with Christine before they were to begin the final scene, asking her, "Are you sure you're alright with this? It could be dangerous with your boy around."

"What? He would never hurt me," she replied, surprise evident in her voice.

"Maybe not, but what about his friends? I would rather use your understudy for this rehearsal_." It was sweet of Erik to be so concerned for her safety, but she really didn't see a problem. If he showed up she could simply tell him to leave, couldn't she?_

"But can she sing? Won't Raoul know the difference?"

He scoffed, "He probably wouldn't, but there will be no singing today. This will mainly be for footwork. You know your footwork very well, but your understudy needs a little more help."

"My understudy. And who would that be?"

Erik turned as an actress separated herself from the group waiting for rehearsal to continue. Christine was stunned at the similarity in their appearances. She had the same lithe shape, the same chestnut hair with soft curls. She could have been her double.

"Christine, meet Annie Fontaine."

Christine stretched out her hand to take the proffered hand, "How do you do?" before she turned her head to Erik, "'Fontaine'? Isn't that the name of…"

"Yes, it is," Erik told her in a voice just above a whisper. "Let's just keep that between us, eh?"

"I'm honored to meet you Mademoiselle Daae." Annie told her. "And even more honored to be working with you," she added conspiratorially.

"Christine, you'd better get out of sight before Raoul shows up. Go to your dressing room and Nadir will meet you there."

"Nadir?"

"Yes. I don't want to leave you alone while that fop is in the vicinity. I don't trust him, even though you do."

She looked at him, about to protest, but he put a hand softly on her cheek and told her, "Go. Now."

She nodded as she turned and headed for her dressing room and the passage below.

He turned to Annie, telling her, "Annie, I'd like you to begin your walk after Don Juan has appeared on the stage in his disguise. Martin?" he addressed the understudy for Piangi. "You will walk toward her seductively, slowly… slower than the music. Don't walk straight to her, but vary your steps."

Martin looked at Erik and shook his head, "I don't understand what you mean."

Erik went to Martin's position, "Like this… watch. Maestro?" He began to walk, sometimes sideways, taking another step at every other downbeat his head tilted so he was looking through his eyelashes and eyebrows at her, never taking his eyes off of Annie as Annie took a few steps first toward and then away from Erik. She was about to turn back to him when a voice called out, "STOP!"

Raoul ran up the aisle and leaped onto the stage and grabbed Annie by the arm, "Come with me Christine! I won't allow this fiend to hold you captive for another moment!"

Annie wrenched her arm away from Raoul and relieved him of the gun she had felt inside his waist coat, "You are under arrest, Monsieur," as other police rapidly approached them and took him into custody.

"Wait!" he shouted, looking around at all the unfamiliar faces. "Who are you? I don't understand!" About then he caught sight of Erik and shouted at him, "YOU! How dare you! Where is Christine? Where are you holding my fiancée?"

"Christine?" Erik asked conversationally, "Why didn't you say you were looking for her?" He turned his head toward the wings and called, "Christine?"

She emerged and crossed the stage to Erik, taking his arm when she got there. "Yes, Darling?" she asked, looking lovingly into Erik's eyes, leaving no doubt in anyone's mind that she was here of her own free will. But he hadn't been expecting this! The adoration in her eyes momentarily made him forget what they were doing.

Erik tore his eyes away from her and cleared his throat, "Uh... someone is here asking for you."

She turned as if just noticing Raoul, "Oh! Vicomte! How nice to see you. You have saved me an errand." She left Erik and walked to Raoul who was struggling to free himself from the two policemen who were holding him. "I have something for you," she said, holding out her hand. "It seems you are otherwise occupied, so…" she inverted her hand to show Raoul the engagement ring he had given her and nestled it into the pocket of his waistcoat. "I believe this was yours."

"Christine! No! You can't do this! You are my fiancée! You belong to me, not that freak over there! Christine!" He shouted as they dragged him, kicking and swearing, to a waiting police wagon.

Erik turned to Christine, holding her by her arms. He could feel her trembling. "Are you alright?" he asked in a soothing, velvety voice.

She nodded, afraid if she opened her mouth she'd start to cry. Timidly, she reached out for Erik and wrapped her arms around him. He returned her embrace, "Let's go." He turned to the company, "That's enough rehearsal for tonight. We don't want to spoil the show by overworking it. Thank you for coming. I'll see you tomorrow at 10 A M, here on stage. We'll do a brief run-through, then break until 3 PM when I'll expect everyone back here for wardrobe and makeup. Good night everyone, and try to get some rest."

O0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Raoul shouted through the bars as the police wagon was driven away, "You haven't heard the last from me, freak!" before one of the police guards poked him to sit back down and behave. He knew that the opera manager probably couldn't hear him, but it still made him feel better to vent his feelings. He would have his father get him released the following day. Then he would get his revenge, Christine or no Christine!

O0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

"Where will you stay tonight, now that you can't go back home?" Erik hesitantly asked Christine. She couldn't go back to Raoul, but her only home since coming to Paris had either been with the ballerinas or with Raoul, except for a few nights she had spent in Erik's lair.

She took a shaky breath, then looked at him with trepidation, "I was hoping I could stay with you – just for a day or two – until I can make arrangements?"

"Are you sure you want to do that?" he asked, kicking himself for asking the question. Granted it was an unseemly arrangement for a single woman, but now that Raoul was out of the picture and she was again a free woman, did he want her to rush to his arms (so to speak)? Yet he couldn't ignore the desire he felt to protect her and shelter her from the world and from Raoul. Besides, it felt so good to be holding her in his arms and reassuring her that things would be alright. What would it hurt to let her stay for one night? or two?

She was shaking again so he took her in his arms once more as she slowly nodded, "If you don't mind the company?" she asked him hesitantly, trying to keep her voice from betraying her shakiness.

He gave her a squeeze, "Of course you can! I have an extra bedroom that Nadir sometimes uses. You can sleep in there."

She barely squeezed out the words ,"Thank you", before the dam broke and the tears she'd been holding back began to gush out. She clung to Erik in desperation, like a drowning man clings to a log in a flood ,trying to steady her breathing but he could feel her breath catching and releasing and pulled out a clean hankie and handed it to her, "There, there. What's all this?"

She shook her head, still sniffing and wiping her eyes and nose, "I don't know. Maybe all the tension of having Raoul come after me, trying to dominate me; maybe for once in my life feeling safe… with you?"

He looked into her amber eyes, so filled with sadness and hope, and something else, love? But how could that be? She had chosen her handsome fop over her hideous teacher, and yet, tonight she had given the fop back his ring, and here she was, standing here, in his arms. As he tried to calm her trembling, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him on his exposed cheek. "Thank you." she said before kissing him once more on his cheek. His heart did a flip-flop and there was nothing else in the world but her and nothing he wanted more than to capture those lips in his own, so hesitantly at first, he kissed her gently, ever so softly, but then he pulled back. _This wasn't right. He didn't want to take advantage of her in this situation. Even though he could feel the desire coursing through his body, even though he could see the need in her eyes, he knew it was wrong._

She had felt the need in his kiss, but he had abruptly broken it off and pulled away_. Did she do something wrong? Was she being too forward? Was he afraid that she still was in love with Raoul and was just using him to get a place to stay? _But then he wrapped his arms ever so tightly around her before escorting her to the spare bedroom."I'll get you something to wear for the night." She felt cold without his arms around her and wrapped her own arms around her body in a feeble attempt to stop herself from trembling. Soon he returned with one of his shirts, "Here you are. This should do. If you need anything, I'll either be in the studio or in my room next door."

"Thank you," she said clutching the shirt before closing the door. He had lit a few candles and she turned to examine the room when her stomach began growling, reminding her that she hadn't eaten today.

She turned back to the door, about to open it, when she heard a soft knock and Erik's voice, "Christine?"

He was startled when the door opened immediately and Christine was standing right there, still clutching his shirt. "Umm, I was wondering, would you like something to eat?"

Before he could say another word, she replied, "Yes! I would. I was just about to ask the same thing."

She was so sweet, so needful of his help, and just , so… sweet.

"I might be able to find something in the kitchen, would you like to come with me? I'm afraid I don't keep much food here in my lair… To be truthful, I don't eat much myself."

"From what I recall, they have some pretty nice leftovers down… or up? there sometimes." She gave him a look of conspiratorial mischief before replacing the shirt in 'her' room and taking Erik's hand to go and find something to eat.

_I took her hand – a rather automatic gesture for some perhaps, but never for me – and felt a surge of energy course through my body. Her hand was so tiny compared to my long-fingered hands. It was like holding a butterfly in my hands once when I was little, so delicate yet determined to make its own way. I felt badly about how firmly I held her hand, but I had to, lest she slip and succumb to one of my many traps._

When we reached the kitchens I turned up my lantern and lit a few of those hanging in the room besides. We found a part of a small loaf of bread, some cheeses, even some slices of sausages. Then I heard Christine say, "I wonder… Could you give me a hand here?"

I turned to see that she had pushed a chair up to a tall cupboard and was trying to climb onto it. I helped her up and she reached over to a shelf even I hadn't known was behind the cabinet and drew out a large glass jar that had what looked like dark brown rocks in it. "I knew it!" She handed the jar down to me and got down with a triumphant grin on her face.

I grinned back at her, "Cookies?"

She shook her head, "Uh-huh… gingerbread cookies!"

I must have looked puzzled because she giggled and opened the glass lid of the jar and withdrew several – well, four, to be exact - of the 'cookies' and handed them to me. (They even felt like rocks.) She then closed the jar and gave it to me in exchange for the cookies. She wrapped them in a napkin while I replaced the jar.

"They feel dried out," I told her when she handed them back to me.

"They're supposed to be. You dunk them in tea or cocoa, or cognac."

"Or milk?" I asked suggestively, holding up a jar of milk I had taken from the ice box.

She gave me a defeated look and sighed, "Or milk."

Back at the lair I lit a small fire in the fireplace and we spread out our largess on my coffee table and sat on the floor to eat.


	3. Chapter 3

I haven't said it for awhile, so just so you know, I don't own Erik, Christine, Raoul, Nadir or Meg Giry or any of ALW's music or lyrics, not even Squelch. But the rest of it is mine alone. Hope you enjoy!

And I very much need to thank Filhound for her tireless efforts to keep me in the proper century and country!

**Revenge Ch 3**

After their late-night raid on the kitchen of the Palais Garnier, and after Erik had absconded with three of the gingerbread cookies and the bottle of cognac, Christine retired to her bedroom and slept soundly for the first time in she couldn't remember how long. It was such a great relief not to fear Raoul entering her bedroom and demanding outrageous things of her – things like agreeing to leave the opera or to marry him the following week or to attend a family dinner party in England. Before falling asleep she made up her mind to treat Erik to breakfast in return for their late night repast, so she got herself up early enough to hit the kitchens before most of the cooks had arrived. She loaded some eggs, milk and bacon into the market basket she carried, a small jar of flour, some fresh thick cream and some strawberries and some sugar. She made it out of the icebox just as one of the cooks came looking for milk.

Erik looked at his clock and mentally groaned. He should not have had those two glasses of cognac last night to help dissolve all those gingerbread cookies! But he couldn't resist them; the combination of the ginger spice and the cognac and the crunchy cookies and the smooth liquor…. And now he was reluctant to rouse Christine so early, partly because of what he imagined she would be wearing… _No! Don't even go there! Yes, she was much smaller than he was and his shirt would mostly cover her body – mostly…. But just the idea of… If his mind kept thinking along these lines he would need an ice bath before going up to the theater._ As he began to dress, he was sure he could hear noises coming from outside his door. He hurried to finish dressing and stepped out of his room to find Christine up and dressed and setting the table with coffee and crepes, with side dishes of bacon, strawberries and sweetened whipped cream. Erik kept doing things for her, she felt it was high time she do something for him!

He halted in the doorway staring at the table as she pulled out a chair for him. "My turn to treat!" she announced with a grin.

He was stunned. "Where did you get all this?"

"The kitchen, of course! Come on, we don't have a lot of time."

_His first thought was that she had been out wandering through his tunnels alone. She could have fallen into one of his traps and been injured – or worse! Or someone might have followed her back and learned how to get here. But he refused to spoil her morning gift for him and filed the information away to speak with her about it another time._

Erik sat on the proffered chair and waited while she took her own place at the table and poured the coffee. "Two lumps, no cream?"

"Yes, thank you," he said hesitantly, studying how fresh and lovely she looked and wondering how she could look so beautiful and have slept so little?

"Eat!" she told him. "These are not stage props. I just wanted to show you that I had other talents besides singing and dancing and causing problems with the nobility of Paris!" she told him with a grin before topping her crepes with some of the strawberries and the cream. She saw Erik looking longingly at the rashers of bacon and remembered that his mask caused him pain when he tried to bite or chew certain foods and she got an idea. Rather than spoil the morning with a lecture about removing his mask in order to eat, she picked up one of the rashers and crumbled it over her crepe. Erik smiled a bit before taking one for himself and doing the same with his own crepe. He had the most delighted smile when he took a bite of his crepe with the bacon bits on it, like a child tasting his first chocolate. She almost cried to see his joy at such a simple treat, pleased that she could have been the cause.

Their breakfast was eaten in silence, each of them stealing brief glances at the other as they ate. More than once she caught him staring at her with a slight smile on his face and wondered what he was thinking.

_I couldn't help but wonder what was going on in his mind with all those glances my way. Was he wondering why I was doing this? Was he wondering whether there was still a chance for us? Was he wondering whether he could trust me, now that I had betrayed him again and then returned here for his help and comfort? What sort of person am I to do that to him? Do I even deserve his trust? But he is such a gentleman, and so sensitive to my needs; and so in need of someone to love him, someone to care about him and for him. But one day at a time. Today was the premier and we had rehearsal and more to get through._

He paused while finishing his coffee, evaluating her from the other side of the table. _She was undoubtedly beautiful, she could sing like an angel, she was more intelligent than most of the cast and crew of the show – and she could cook (Well, crepes anyway)! She was gracious and could be quite charming. In short, she could have any man in or beyond the theater, yet here she was, preparing and serving me breakfast! And looking like a living, breathing angel in doing it. For me! _He suddenly realized that he was staring at her and quickly finished his coffee and took the cup to the sink, a smile refusing to leave his face. He wondered what it must be like to be normal and to have the possibility of looking forward to spending a lifetime with a woman like Christine, before dashing such thoughts from his mind and getting it back to his duties with the coming performance. He stiffened and turned to her, "Are you about ready?"

O0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

"What do you mean, 'he isn't here'? I know he comes here all the time. Tell me where he is or I'll tear this place apart looking for him!"

Babette knew this kind of man, an angry paramour, a rejected lover. It didn't seem to matter that he was looking for a man. "Monsieur, I assure you he is not here! I don't know where he is, but it is certainly not here! Now, will you please leave?!"

She tried pushing him toward the door but he shoved her aside and began rummaging through the guest rooms, emptying closets and overturning beds. Babette sent her errand boys for Mr. Squelch and for the police while trying to slow his progress. He finally gave her a hard shove and she fell, hitting her head on a dresser, and lost consciousness.

Three men who had accompanied him were doing most of the destructive work, but when they saw Babette lying on the floor, they told him, "Ransacking a house of prostitution is one thing. Murder is something else. You didn't pay us enough for that, de Chagny. We're out of here before the police or the gendarmes arrive!" and they scurried away. Raoul looked around at the ladies and at their angry customers, who were slowly closing in on him and asked, "What? They're just a bunch of whores. Who cares about such lowlife scum?" He read their angry expressions and turned tail and ran just before they surged forward to snatch him and made it to his waiting carriage two steps ahead of them. "Go! Go!" he yelled to the driver as he pulled the door shut, and they took off before any of the men could latch on to the carriage. One thing Raoul de Chagny could do well was run.

Once she was sure they had left, Babette opened her eyes and looked around. Her head was splitting and blood was trickling down her neck. One of her ladies helped her up and dressed her head wound, for which Babette thanked her. They were all having some tea when Erik and Squelch arrived.

"Babette? " Erik called urgently as he entered the establishment. He pulled a chair to where she was sitting, surrounded by her ladies and some of the patrons. "Are you alright?" he asked, eyeing the bandage around her head.

"Yes. I'm fine, Erik. A little bump like that isn't going to hurt me!" she quipped. "You should have seen him turn tail and run when his gang fled. He couldn't get out of here fast enough!"

"What was this about? Were they looking for money?" he asked, worried that news of Babette's penchant for keeping her earnings in a safe hidden in the wall behind her bed had gotten out.

She slowly shook her head, "No. Erik, they were looking for you," she told him almost apologetically. She hoped he wouldn't blame himself for this attack, although she had no idea how anyone had associated him with her – unless they'd been following him? Did he know how much danger he was in?

"For _me_? Why? What did they want with me? And why would they come here?" He looked at all the destruction, thinking that this was somehow his responsibility and took her hands and held them. "Did you recognize any of them?"

She looked at each of her girls, being sure to make eye contact, "No."

Erik looked from her to the girls, "I see." He stood abruptly. "Monsieur Squelch, will you help Babette to put this place back together? I have to get back to the theater." He reached into his pocket, "Here's 100 francs to help with damages. Let me know if you need more, and it's time for you to hire a security guard." He took her in his arms, "I'm so sorry this had to happen. I'll be back after the show." And he turned and left. When he was gone they began the job of picking up and straightening up. She felt a little better after the tea, but she had heard the name, "de Chagny". She would not forget that name.

He used the secret side entrance to the Palais Garnier and went straight to his lair, looking for Christine. Entering through his bedroom, he could sense that the lair was empty of people. That was strange because he had instructed Nadir to stay here with Christine. He tentatively cracked open the bedroom door to see who might be in the parlor. He was rewarded with a view of Nadir and Christine sitting on the sofa, seeming to be holding hands, but a glint of metal nestled between them gave away the reality that they were shackled together. Silently moving to another viewing port he could see Raoul seated on the organ bench with a gun trained on them and two other thugs standing near the entry door, ready to pounce on anyone attempting to enter. Then his eye caught sight of one of his traps camouflaged by the ornate wallpaper. It was a series of three arrows, like those fired by a crossbow, that could be aimed at an intruder by pressing a certain series of notes on the piano wallpaper near the entrance.

Erik reached his slender fingers around the doorjamb to aim the projectiles, then used his voice at an almost inaudible level, throwing it into the ears of Nadir and Christine, "I'm here. When things happen, duck low and run for the doorway behind you. A wall panel on your left will lead to the tunnels." Next he threw his voice to the opposite corner of the room, saying, "Good evening, Vicomte."

Raoul stood and turned and Erik unleashed one of the arrows which hit him in the shoulder, causing him to fire the gun wildly in that direction before dropping it. His lackeys also turned and fired in that direction allowing Nadir and Christine to escape. Erik laughed, throwing his voice to the opposite corner. "Did you lose something, Monsieur?" and began to throw his voice here and there in the room, further adding to the confusion. Erik released another bolt which hit Raoul in the thigh, dropping him to the floor.

"You freak! Show yourself, you coward! Face me like a man!" yelled Raoul, holding his leg with his uninjured hand.

"So you finally admit that I am a man! That's quite an accomplishment for you. Still, I would suggest you have your dogs help you out of here before another bolt finds its mark on your heart!" sneered Erikwith as much venom as he could muster.

"This isn't over, monster. I know how to get in here now. You won't be able to sleep in safety now until I have your black heart in my hands!"

"The next time you lay your eyes on me will be the last time they see anything, Monsieur le Vicomte. I would suggest you seek your vistas elsewhere. Perhaps Italy!"

Raoul's goons began helping him out of the lair, but not doing a very good job of it, grabbing him where he was wounded or bumping him into walls and corners, "Ouch! Be careful with that, you fool!" Yelled Raoul at his men as they rough-handled him getting him out of the lair. "Watch where you're going! Ow!"

When Erik caught up to Nadir and Christine, Nadir suggested, "Perhaps you should escort them out, just to make sure they get out in one piece?"

"Nah. I have disabled _… most_ of my traps. They'll be OK… for the most part." He pushed on a section of wall and suddenly they were in a workshop. "Let's get you out of those cuffs."

"No need," replied Nadir nonchalantly, holding up the handcuffs.

Christine looked at her wrist, stunned to see the manacles no longer attached. "How..?"

"Perhaps I have been hanging around Doostam too long and some of his tricks are wearing off on me!" he quipped.

Christine turned from her wrist to Erik, "Erik, what about the show? Shouldn't I be in costume?"

Erik looked at his pocket watch and sighed. He needed to follow Raoul but he also needed to escort Christine to her dressing room, but he couldn't be in two places at once… "Yes, you should. Nadir …"

Nadir was already at the entry. "I'll go keep an eye on Raoul, Doostam, and let you know what he's up to." And he was gone. Nadir seemed able to read Erik's mind_. It was good to have a friend like that, sometimes, _Erik thought, as he took Christine's arm and led her through his tunnels to the area of the dressing rooms.

When they arrived at her dressing room, he first made certain that she would be alone, then took her in his arms and studied her, hoping she was ready for the performance. He'd done everything he could to prepare her for this night. Now it was up to her. "It's here, ange! Opening night! You're on right after the dance number, so hurry and change. I'll wait out in the hall for you." He looked into her eyes and saw the excitement there, but also the fear. Thinking it was for the show, he told her, "You'll be wonderful. Just do it as we rehearsed," and gave her a quick kiss. "Now quickly, get changed." And he left to stand outside her door.

O0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

As the music for the song "Past the Point of No Return" began, Erik tapped Piangi on the shoulder. "if you don't mind, I have a little surprise in mind for tonight. Allow me to finish this performance, just this once. Afterward you can practice what I do if you like, for the subsequent performances."

"But I have rehearsed this with Christine for several weeks now!" he protested.

"You watch our performance tonight and if you can imitate it, I'll let you use it yourself. Deal?" he asked, holding out his hand to Piangi.

Piangi scoffed but then took Erik's hand, "This better be better than good!"

"It is! Just watch." exclaimed Erik, trading costumes and disguises. When it was time for Piangi to re-enter the stage, singing a duet with Christine, the audience was confused by the difference in singing voices. The new cast member taking Piangi's place had a much richer and more powerful voice. He also sounded more seductive – even dangerous. And when he began advancing on Christine, his steps were like that of a panther stalking its prey. When they reached the height of the music and they stood high above the stage on a bridge, the script called for her to pull off the black mask he wore as part of his Don Juan costume, which she did with a flourish. The audience gasped along with Christine for he was someone they had never seen before, someone extremely handsome and dashing in appearance. The song changed to the seductive strains of "That's All I Ask Of You" and they kissed, passionately.

Suddenly an actor appeared at one end of the bridge with a gun, aimed at Erik. "Don Juan! I knew it was you! You'll never have her!" and he fired the gun. But Erik had released a rope that was fastened to the railing next to them, whispering to her, "Hold on tight," and suddenly, with Erik holding a long rope in one hand, his other arm wrapped tightly around Christine, they dropped through a trap door that opened up on the bridge where they were standing, through a hole that had opened in the floor of the stage, and down a slide to a cushioned landing near his lair. The audience screamed, some in approval, some in horror. Several fainted.

One patron, the Vicomte de Chagny, was particularly horrified, first by the kiss which even he could see was not a stage kiss, and then by the unmasking and their escape. He hobbled from his seat in the boxes to Christine's dressing room, accompanied by close to twenty people who had seemed to be part of the audience enjoying the show, but now were brandishing clubs and knives.

Aware of the commotion above, but thinking it to be just a reaction to the final scene, Christine and Erik embraced and kissed and laughed in excitement.

"You were wonderful!" he told her in his excitement.

"You were magnificent!" she told him, her words partly smothered by his kiss. They laughed and prepared to go back out on stage and take their bows. As they climbed the steps to Christine's dressing room they could hear voices that sounded to be raised in anger heading toward them and ducked into one of Erik's hidden passageways that would take them to the stage.

"What was that all about?" asked Christine softly.

Erik held a finger to his lips "Sh-h… later."

They reached the stage and joined hands with the other actors who were taking their bows. When the audience spotted them the place erupted in applause, calls, whistles and cheers of "Bravo! Bravo!" Christine whispered to him between bows, "Where did you get the new mask?" For now, unless a person looked really close, they wouldn't be aware that Erik was wearing a mask at all. What he was wearing was a prosthesis, designed in Sweden for him.

"I had it made. Do you like it?"

She turned to him and gave him a kiss. "I wish you had told me about it. I'd have been more careful removing the black mask."

"It was to be a surprise!"

More calls of "Bravo! Bravo!" echoed through the hall, accompanied by calls of "Author! Author!" Soon the entire crowd was chanting, "Author! Author!" Behind the curtain Erik looked around at the cast and at Christine smiling at him expectantly, uncertain of what to do. All at once she pushed him through the gap in the curtain with a laugh and he had no choice but to bow to the crowd and accept their accolades. The curtain opened and he rejoined the cast for one more curtain call. He was stunned. He was elated. He was numb. All these people! And they loved his play! They loved him! This was something he hadn't anticipated, something he had never dreamed would happen! Well, he had dreamed of such a thing happening, but only in a fantasy sort of way, not realistically. How could he when he couldn't even imagine himself out on a stage facing a crowded auditorium? An impossible dream, and yet here it was actually happening! To him! The audience, of course, had no idea who they were applauding, he reasoned. They only knew that this so far unnamed actor was apparently the author of the play they had just enjoyed.

Raoul could hear all the commotion in the theater and waited for his chance.

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Backstage, Erik told Christine to go with Squelch via a side door and not to go to either her dressing room or to his lair.

"Why? Where are you going, Erik? I would much rather stay with you!"

He looked deeply into her eyes and told her, "Your performance tonight was exquisite, astounding, and now you need to perform again. You need to visit your brother who lives next to the brothel of Babette. Babette will give you clothes suitable for a sisterly visit."

She looked at him as if he'd lost his mind, "What are you saying? That I should abandon the theater and all my friends, on this night of all nights? Why? Where will you be?"

He drew her close, gazing intently into her eyes, as if trying to memorize every detail of them, "Trying to keep you safe." Her next question was completely muffled by his kiss and he was gone before she recovered and was wrapped in a long cloak and nearly carried out by Mr. Squelch.

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**Read and Review, if you like!**

suddenly the two rivers of their emotions merged and he kissed her deeply and she responded in kind; and now they were floating in a cloud of each other, unaware of their surroundings, unaware of people passing by, unaware of time and space. Somehow they found themselves in Erik's living room deep beneath the opera house


	4. Chapter 4

I still don't own Erik or Nadir, Squelch or Christine – unfortunately!

**Revenge Ch 4**

Erik turned quickly, Punjab lasso in hand, at the sound not two steps behind him and was about to throttle the person who dared to follow so closely. "And just where do you think you're going? Shouldn't you be back entertaining your girl, Babette?"

"Well, now," replied Nadir, "That would be a problem, wouldn't it, since you have sent her off on some fools' errand to purchase clothing for a soon-to-be Vicomtesse, as if a person of such illustrious standing requires more accoutrements!"

"It was merely an attempt to get them out of harm's way. You haven't answered my question."

"You looked like you were about to do something interesting and I thought I'd just tag along."

"'tag along', eh? You may find yourself in water deeper than your meager height," Erik teased, referring to the fact that Nadir stood about six centimeters shorter than he did.

"I can swim," replied Nadir dryly.

to the fact that Nadir was all of two inches shorter than he was.

"No matter. I can swim " They stood at the door to Christine's dressing room, studying each other. Nadir seemed to be eager to join Erik in whatever enterprise he had in mind. At the same time, Erik felt that the coming confrontation that he sensed was between Raoul and himself and he was reluctant to get Nadir involved. But when had he ever been able to change Nadir's mind when he had it made up?

Erik sighed, "Stay behind me," and reached for the door knob, then pulled his hand back and gestured to Nadir to follow him. Around the corner, Erik pressed on a wall panel and they entered a narrow space between the walls. After several steps they came to a panel that Erik slid open to reveal the back side of a two-way mirror. They could clearly see Raoul in the room, along with five thugs positioned in strategic places. Erik gestured to the nearest thug and then indicated that he would go after Raoul as he appeared to have a gun. They stepped to either side of the mirror and pressed on the wall and stepped into the room. Nadir quickly took care of his thug and headed for the next, and then the next. Oddly, Raoul stayed put, just watching the action.

Erik turned to him, "Enjoying the view?"

"Immensely. Your hand-to-hand techniques are clever, worthy of study."

"I'm glad you approve. Too bad your time to learn is so limited." In a flash Erik was behind Raoul who then fired a shot at Nadir. Nadir dropped with a hole in his leg, but suddenly a cargo net dropped from the ceiling and wrapped itself around Erik. Erik fought against it frantically, but to no avail as the remaining pair of Raoul's men tightened it around Erik's ankles and around his arms. "You see? You aren't the only one who can set traps!" Raoul opened the mirror leading to the stairway down to Erik's lair. He grinned as he came close to Erik, "Wherever did you get that new mask? It's actually quite attractive, much too attractive for a freak like you!" and he yanked the prosthesis from Erik's face. "That's more like it!"

Erik snarled at Raoul, "What game are you playing at, Raoul?"

Raoul smiled evilly at Erik, "Revenge! We're here to help you find your way back to where you came from – HELL!" and he grabbed Erik's collar and shoved him hard enough to knock him off his bound feet. "I thought we might have a tour of your lair along the way!" and he jerked on the cord again, causing Erik to bounce down two of the steps. "You think you can fool everyone with that mask, masquerading as a person of worth, as a human being. I'll show the world what you really are – a monster, not worthy to be called 'human', the 'thing', the 'it'!" He then handed the cord to one of the thugs with instructions to pull him down to the first landing. Erik struggled against the bindings and managed to free his hands in order to protect his damaged face. Once he had stopped moving down the stairs he searched his pocket for a knife and reached for the cord they had tightened around him. Before Raoul could catch up to him he had cut through it so they could not pull him down anymore of the steps.

Erik knew he had to get out of that net or these men would kill him. He'd just cut through two more of the ropes of the net when a blow to his side knocked the wind out of him and caused him to drop the knife. He felt himself being rolled down more of the steps toward the lake before more blows rained down on him from different directions. If he could hold out until he reached the lake, the hole would be large enough to swim through and he would have a chance to get away.

Before he could roll out of the way, a very large brute of a man stomped on his leg. A sudden burst of pain and the feeling of something snapping told him his leg was most likely broken. _ Can a person swim with a broken leg? _he wondered. He was about to find out as he rolled himself just a bit farther than his attackers had intended and he plunged into the cold waters of the lake. The sudden shock of the cold water caused him to stop breathing momentarily and he stopped struggling against the rope just long enough to sink beyond their sight, but then he pushed himself through the hole he'd made in the net and swam for a grate that he knew led to a small channel out to the river. But first he needed air. He came up just long enough to refill his lungs and to ascertain that his pursuers were searching in the other direction. For one of the few times in his life he prayed to God, prayed that the grate at the other end of this channel would not be locked, or choked with debris.

It seemed like an eternity before he broke the surface and allowed his aching lungs to breathe again. The pain in his side was excruciating and his right arm didn't seem to want to cooperate. He rolled onto his back and closed his eyes, floating on the water, to allow his breathing to return to normal when suddenly a hand grabbed him by the shoulder and started dragging him through the water. He didn't know how much more of this he could take and began battling with this new assailant until he heard the word "Doostam" through his water-logged ears. It was possibly the most beautiful word he had ever heard, and he relaxed in relief as he felt himself being dragged out of the water, only to feel pain in each part of his body as it was pulled onto dry land. His head, his shoulder, his right arm, his left side, his left leg. He opened his eyes to see Nadir looking intently at him. "Thanks be to Allah, you are alive!" But the pain grew to be too much and he passed out.

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"What do you mean he isn't there? He has to be! Where else could he have gone? Search it again!" Raoul demanded imperiously, sometimes pacing impatiently along the edge of Erik's lake, leaning on a fancy cane, sometimes stopping to sit on a wooden chair from Erik's kitchen.

"Monsieur le Vicomte," said one of the men who had been searching the lake, "we have searched the lake from one end to the other, even the very bottom, and have found nothing."

Raoul was fuming, grasping and releasing the top of his cane until his knuckles were white.

"The men are exhausted, Monsieur. Perhaps we should go home and rest and bring in some more men to search again tomorrow."

"Incompetent fools! What do you think I paid _you _for? To go home and sleep?" He stood from the chair where he'd been sitting, knocking it over, and stomped over to the edge of the lake leaning heavily on his cane. "He has to be here! You didn't even find the net?"

"No, Monsieur. Nothing."

"That's impossible!"

Another searcher suggested, "Monsieur? It is said that he is a powerful magician. Perhaps he performed a disappearing act?"

Raoul glared at him as if he would literally bite him in two. "Get out! All of you! Out!" He turned and threw the wooden chair into the water and was about to throw his cane, but thought better of it and turned and stormed up the stone stairway toward the surface.

"Incompetent imbeciles!" he muttered along the way.

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(Erik's POV)

I slowly became aware of pain – pain everywhere – and wanted it to go away, wanted to go back to sleep. Every movement caused more pain. Moaning seemed to help, the vibrations calming the sometimes shooting and stabbing pain. I jerked slightly when I felt a cold hand behind my head and a soft angelic voice say, "Here, drink this…" and a cool liquid was dribbled between my lips. I tried to see who or where I was, but there seemed to be a bandage across my eyes for I could not open them, nor could I move anything. A cold wet something was placed on my head and the voice told me, "Just sleep, Mon Ange, just sleep…" I heard soft voices murmuring something about performances and substitutes as I drifted back to sleep.

It seemed like moments later I again awoke, this time to Nadir's voice next to my ear, "Doostam, you need to drink this."

I tried to say that I had just had some of his concoction, but it came out sounding nothing like I'd intended, as if I had a mouth filled with cotton. But that didn't stop him, he just went ahead and trickled more of it into my mouth. _"Such unwanted treatment one is subjected to when at the mercy of someone else, someone who thinks he knows better than you what you need!" _I clamped my mouth shut against any more of the drug.

"Stop fighting it, Doostam. It has been hours since you had your last dose. It has been helping you to sleep so your body can heal. Now open your mouth so I can give you the last bit."

Reluctantly, I opened my mouth and he dribbled the last of the bitter draught into my mouth.

I was able to open my eyes a little and tried to look around but couldn't focus them, and this place smelled different. I didn't recognize it. "Where?" I managed to ask him.

"You're safe," he assured me. "Remember the house you bought for Babette? The one next to her bordello? She has converted it into a boarding house – for me, for Mr. Squelch, and a few others chosen for their abilities as security guards. Christine has also moved in."

I tried to glare at him, but my eyes wouldn't focus enough to pull it off, but he sensed my agitation at that last bit of news.

"Babette has set up her residence on the first floor, with a room and bath for Christine. We have also dug a tunnel connecting this house with her business next door, so if necessary either you or Christine can be moved back and forth to evade anyone searching for you. For performances, Christine is accompanied either by myself or Mr. Squelch to and from the opera house. We sometimes wear disguises and are careful to make numerous stops each way, selecting fabrics for dresses, purchasing undergarments as well as medicines and bandages for you, food, wine and other sundries, stopping for coffee or tea – enough to bore anyone attempting to follow us," he told me."It is all very proper. The cover story is that Babette has had a sudden desire to sing at the opera house, so Christine has begun giving her lessons."

"Fop?" I asked.

"You'll be pleased to know that he has been arrested and is waiting in jail for his arraignment in two weeks."

I closed my eyes and sank into the pillows, reassured that at least for now, Christine wouldn't have to deal with him.

"In the mean time, the three of us have been caring for you."

I slowly digested all this information before asking, "How long?"

"How long what? How long have you been here?"

All I could manage was to grunt in reply.

"It's been about two weeks."

I moaned. _ Two weeks? What of my opera? What of Nadir himself?_ I reached out with my arm and shakily tapped his leg.

"It's much better. Thank you for asking!" He must have turned away because his voice changed direction, "Oh! Here comes Christine now!"

I smiled as best I could when I saw her, or at least I think that was her. She gave me a kiss and told me, "I'm so glad to see you awake!"

"Any trouble?" Nadir asked.

She giggled and told me, "We have been wearing various disguises each time we go back and forth; today I was a cabin boy and Squelch was a ship's first mate. He made me carry all the groceries!"

The medication was taking over and I had trouble understanding her. It sounded like she said she had disguised herself as a little boy, but that didn't make any sense.

Of course, then I dreamed about her disguised as a little boy, with chocolate colored braids and wearing a sailor suit, licking on an enormous pinwheel sucker until an ogre grabbed her and tried to drown her. I struggled with him to let her go until Christine woke me up to get me to stop struggling with the bedclothes and the contraption they had my leg in, some sort of a sling.

"Darling? Erik? Erik! Stop. Erik, You're safe, I'm safe. Please, Mon Ange, shush-h." She took my uninjured hand between hers, then kissed my forehead. I opened my eyes and could see and feel her so close to me; I had to reach out to make sure she was real and she held my hand to her face and kissed my hand so gently, lovingly. It brought tears to my eyes to know that she was really here with me.

"Dream," I told her.

"I know, Dear. I know. Sh-h, now. It's all over." And she gently cradled my head in her arms."

"Sorry to be …. trouble," I told her with the tears at the edges of my eyes. "Such a burden."

She held me closer, "Oh! You're not! Not ever! You've been injured and need time to recover, for your body to heal. You could never be a burden!"

We stayed like that until I fell back to sleep, I suppose, because the next thing I knew I was looking at Babette. She had brought me some rich broth to drink. "You hungry?"

Aside from whatever these wonderful people had been dribbling down my throat, I hadn't eaten nor drunken anything since before Raoul's attack in my lair. The smell of that broth made my belly growl and my mouth water. "Yes!" I told her and tried to sit up.

"Whoa! Wait just a minute! Mr. Squelch is coming here to help you." Sure enough, he showed up and ever so gently raised up my shoulders and head so Babette could place some pillows behind me. I squeezed my eyes shut at the pain in my side, but it felt wonderful to be in a new position.

"Is that alright?" he asked me, afraid I would say 'No'.

I looked at him and tried to smile, "Yes, thank you. Change position… feels good!"

He smiled broadly and told me, "We brought some lambskins in for you to lie on because your, er, other side was getting sore… from staying in the same position all the time."

I reached down with my hand and sure enough, it was met with silky, curly lamb's wool. It felt so soft…

"Thank you…, Squelch! So thoughtful!"

Babette tucked a napkin under my chin and spoon-fed the broth to me. I was hungry and kept reaching for more but she pulled away, "Not so fast, Monsieur, Nadir says you have to take this slowly or your stomach will cramp up." So we chatted - she talked, I listened – about her business and her 'lessons' with Christine, and how she had begun a side business of sewing costumes for the theater. Like a young bird, I would frequently open my mouth for more of the broth. I could feel it rapidly filling my shrunken stomach, but, oh! It felt so good!

I could tell I was getting better; my injuries were hurting, but the pain wasn't overwhelming. I gradually stopped taking Nadir's draught, unless I felt the need. I had gone through morphine addiction once in my life and had no desire to deal with it again. _Even though this wasn't simply morphine. It was mixed with opium and was called 'Laudanum'. It was said to be less addictive than 'pure' opium, but I wouldn't want to test that notion, it was still very addictive, if you allowed it to be._ So I stopped taking regular doses of it. What helped me the most was being able to sleep without using the drugs. Having Christine sitting on the bed near me, holding my hand, or singing to me, or pulling a cot alongside of my bed and lying there next to me was all the sleep potion I needed. Usually.

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I had learned that the blow to my head had caused a concussion and that both of my eyes had been swollen shut, which probably explains why they were taking awhile to get back into focus. My speech had been gradually improving – finally! I felt so babyish not being able to speak properly, as if I were just beginning to learn to speak! Christine seemed to know when I was beginning to grow frustrated, even before I displayed any of my temper, and would tell me to stop trying and just hug me. She was so patient with me and I loved her so much and told her so as often as I could.

With Nadir's help and instruction, I began exercising my good leg in an attempt to keep it strong enough to support me once I was able to get out of bed. And he brooked no slacking. There were days I threw my pillows at him and yelled at him to get out. Once my broken ribs had healed enough I was regularly rolled onto my stomach for his so-called exercises, though I think he was borrowing some pages from the shah's torture chambers!

My first day up on my feet was the worst day ever. Learning to use the rudimentary crutches they provided was a challenge. My right shoulder had been dislocated somehow, and my ribs were still very sore on the other side. I tried using them more like canes and not pressing them into my underarms or against my sides. Not long after our therapy session, Nadir hurried into my room with Christine, Babette and Squelch.

"Raoul has escaped," announced Nadir. "We need to move you to another location, someplace beyond the reach of Raoul and his ilk."

Babette told us, "Well, I have been preparing a bordello in a suburb of Algiers. It would serve until Erik is stronger."

"'Erik' is here and can hear you! I am not an imbecile that needs to be protected from the truth!" he declared heatedly. They all stood waiting for Erik to finish. He turned to Babette, "Algiers? For what reason?"

"Well, the climate is good, they speak French, there are many soldiers there so business would be good…"

"And what of you, Christine?" He reached out and took her hand, gazing into her eyes with longing and concern. "We can't leave you here with Raoul on the loose."

Her gaze matched his as she reassured him, "Wherever you go, I will follow, Mon Ange, whether Raoul was loose or not, I could never bear to be apart from you!" He pulled her into an embrace, kissing her softly, "We will find a way to be married while we are there. Raoul will have no recourse to claim you after that."

Nadir cleared his throat. "I will purchase tickets. What will our cover story be?"

They all looked to Erik and he thought for a moment, "A deceased war veteran and his man and his former fiancée and her lady?"

They looked at each other, aghast, "Deceased?" asked Babette.

"Why not? I look like a corpse, I have been advertised as a living corpse, why not go all the way and portray one? Find a coffin that will fit me and have me sent to Algeria."

Nadir nodded, "Yes, Doostam, but that is a long time for you to ride in a coffin. Will it not be difficult for you?"

Christine held his arm, "Erik, we will travel with you to keep you company." He gave her an adoring look. _This woman is so loving and devoted to him!_

"You forget, Daroga, that I often slept in a coffin in my lair beneath the opera house."

"Yes, but you did make use of the bathroom from time to time. We will have to devise a plan for your comfort during the trip. Perhaps a jar that can be sealed and emptied each day?"

"And washed to prevent odors," added Babette. "Perhaps a jar with fresh flowers which we can dump out and give to Erik, leaving the flowers on top of the coffin? I can pose as the grieving ex-fiancée, riding with her intended."

Erik looked sadly at Christine, "Of course. That would be best."

They exchanged glances before nodding. "Nadir? You will need to get some engagement rings for the ladies when you go to purchase the tickets."

Nadir nodded and left to run his errands.

Christine took Erik's hand in hers. "Erik, I'm frightened. So many things could go wrong…."

Erik enfolded her in his good arm, "It will work out. You'll see, and we'll get to Algiers and we'll be married, and start a small theater perhaps."

"And maybe a small family as well?" she added.

Erik's look softened as he looked into her eyes that were so filled with love for him, he felt like he was drowning in them, and happy to be. _ Damned train schedules! If we could only have another hour together, another day… I'm not sure I can bear to be so close to this woman and not be able to claim her as my own until after we arrive at our destination. Such sweet agony this will be!_ As much as he wanted to, he dare not initiate anything now, and it was driving him a little mad. He kissed her, and she was surprised at the intensity of it, but responded with her own sweet yet demanding kisses before pulling away to dress in her black mourning dress.

Returning an hour later, Nadir found Christine ensconced in Erik's lap in one of the easy chairs. Nadir had taken a few minutes to change into a black morning coat and pants with a black band around his upper arm. He helped Erik into a blue-gray French private's uniform before reaching into his waist-coat pocket. He handed Erik a small package and took another similar package and went to Babette waiting in the next room. He found her dressed in black with a black veil over her face. He knew this was a disguise, yet he felt a pang, as if he was intruding when he took her hand and removed the veil. "Babette, this is not the way I had envisioned doing this, but the urgency of the situation demands expediency." He got down on his knees, "I'm sorry, but I don't know how this is done among you Christians, so I'll just ask you, would you consent to becoming my bride? I promise to love and honor you for as long as I live, and to treat you with dignity and respect."

Babette smiled with a tear in her eye, "Oh, Nadir, you have always treated me with more kindness than I have ever known in my life from anyone other than Erik. I would be honored to be your wife, Nadir Khan!"

He slid the ring onto her finger before taking her in his arms and kissing her soundly. "That will have to last awhile, I'm afraid." He went to help Erik get ready.

Erik took the proffered package and opened it to find a beautiful diamond ring, not too ostentatious, but tastefully done. He grinned at Christine and his eyes softened as he took her hands in his and hobbled away from the others. "I had hoped to do this in a romantic setting, apart from the others, but it seems that dream will have to be held up for a time."

"Erik," she said, gazing longingly into his beautiful aqua eyes, "the setting is immaterial, my love, as long as you love me as much as I love you. I could never love you more than I do right now."

Erik struggled with his balance for a bit before confessing, "It would also appear that I cannot get down on my knee due to this infernal cast on my leg …" He turned and dragged over one of the kitchen chairs they'd been using and knelt on it with his good leg before grinning proudly at Christine. "Where there's a will…"

She blushed and giggled, feeling like a school girl on her first date as he again took her hands in his, "Christine, we don't have much time here, but I need to tell you that you are my rock and my refuge…"

"Hurry up in there!" called Nadir. "Squelch said he knew where to get a coffin for you. He'll be here soon with the wagon!"

Erik blushed before continuing - _wondering in the back of his mind where Squelch could have found a coffin that would be large enough for him in such a short time? – _He shook his head_,_ "Christine, I need you like I need air to breathe and ground upon which to walk, like the sun needs the sky. I love you, and I will always love you and cherish …"

"Erik!" Nadir shouted.

"Will you be my wife?"

"Of course I will, Mon Ange!" and she gave him a kiss that felt like she wanted to prolong it, but Nadir was now with them, grabbing their bags. Erik slipped the ring onto her finger and she hardly got to see it before covering it up with her gloves. "I love you!"

"Come on, Let's be ready to go when Squelch gets here, before anyone suspects that we're who we are and leaving the country." Christine helped Erik straighten his uniform. It was too short, of course, but many soldiers had ill-fitting uniforms. The trousers didn't matter, in fact the left pant leg had to be split to allow for the cast, but the sleeves were a different matter.

"Here, let me," said Babette stepping up to Erik. She began by slitting the back of the coat from collar to hem to allow him to move his arms more freely, then let out the hems of the cuffs so they would at least cover his wrists down to where his gloves would come." There! How's that?"

Erik stretched out his arms and flexed his left shoulder, "Much better. Thank you!"

"You're welcome! They do that in funeral parlors all the time!"

Just then Squelch arrived along with Erik's coffin from the opera house. Erik looked at it in surprise, "How did you get that out without being seen?"

Squelch got a conspiratorial grin on his face, raising one eyebrow, "I told them I was stealing it! And they helped me!" Erik shook his head, smiling as Nadir helped him get inside and get comfortable. "I told them I was taking it to America to use it for a side-show that I was building. They thought it would be a wonderful idea!"

"Perhaps when Raoul learns of it, he will go to America to search for you!" suggested Nadir. "He will be chasing wild geese, as the English would say."

"Once again you speak without understanding, Daroga. It is called a 'wild-goose-chase', where all the riders in a horse race chase the lead horse wherever he goes!"

"Either way, Doostam, he will be going away from us."

Christine stood silently, looking at Erik in the coffin. She hated seeing him in it. She had hated seeing it in his lair, but now that he was lying in it, it was almost more than she could take.

Erik looked at her, understanding her misgivings without her even giving voice to them and called her over, "Christine…"

She approached the coffin, slowly shaking her head, "Erik, I …"

He took her hand and drew her closer, "Christine, it's only for a little while. It's just like a play. Come here."

He pulled her even closer and she leaned over and gave him a hug and a kiss."We will ride with you. I will not leave you, Mon Ange," she said with tears in her eyes.

"I will be fine, Mon Ange. I'll see you once we are on the train." He wiped her tears before Nadir closed the coffin lid and turned the latches.

When Nadir noticed Christine looking at the latches with horror he reassured her that Erik was not locked in. "He has releases inside with which to open the lid, if needed. Only two of the seeming latches on the outside actually lock down the lid, and those are the ones for which he has the release inside. And he has enough air in there for three hours, four if he conserves his breathing."

It was a good thing that Erik was not overly claustrophobic, because it seemed as if the coffin lid was mere centimeters from his face. Then he remembered that Squelch said he had packed the coffin with extra cushioning to make him more comfortable. He decided that at the earliest opportunity he would have them remove some of the lining. It was more important to have air to breathe than cushions to lie upon – although the extra cushioning did feel good. But his discomfort would only have to be endured for a few days and it was easier to endure discomfort for a few days than to go without air for that long. He had endured worse, much worse.

**O0o0o00o0o00o0o0o0o0o0o000**

**Read and review, if you like!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Oh, I wish I owned Erik and Nadir and Christine and even Raoul, but I don't. But I do owe a loud THANK YOU to Filhound for all her help with this story!**

Revenge Ch 5

After considerable jostling and banging, they finally got Erik's coffin situated in the train's baggage car, along with two seats – one for the guard who would accompany it (that being Squelch) and one for the grieving fiancée who insisted on sitting next to the coffin. But since Babette admitted pregnancy and often had to be escorted to the privacy room and then to the passenger car to rest, Christine would have to take her place for long periods of time - or so their story went if anyone were to ask them. Babette insisted on one of them being near her dear fiancé at all times. She'd heard stories of people who had been thought to be dead waking up and being unable to get out of the coffin or grave and dying a horrible death of suffocation and fright and she did not want that to happen to her beloved fiancé.

So she or Christine was always with Erik. Late that first night, Erik was able to get out and move around a bit, get the kinks out. They knew the schedule of the railway personnel and were able to work around their infrequent trips to the baggage car. Each time the railway official left the car, they would open the coffin to replenish the air inside. Sometimes they would speak in low voices if Erik was awake, but only when either Squelch or Nadir was present, to account for the sound of a male voice should anyone be listening. Having others present with them put a kibosh on their romanticism but it did allow them to hold hands. For the most part, Erik slept or dozed, comforted by the nearness of his angel.

It was a good thing that the guard's trips were infrequent because Erik had developed a prominent snore in his position inside the coffin. He had tossed out the pillow cushioning his head, causing his head to now fall back, partially closing his airway - _ergo_, snoring. Whoever was sitting with him would lightly tap the side of the coffin. If that didn't work, they would knock on its side. When that didn't work they would rock the coffin a bit. This would usually work to rouse Erik enough to realize that something was wrong and he'd try to change positions – unless they were going around a curve, as happened on the afternoon of the second day. It was approaching evening and they were nearing the end of their train trip. Christine was sitting near the coffin when Erik began to snore. She tapped the side of the coffin, but Erik continued to snore. She knocked on the side of it, but he must have finally succumbed to a deep sleep because her efforts solicited no response from him. She had no idea that when she began to rock the coffin that the train was about to lurch as it rounded a sharp curve. The coffin slid, ending partly on the floor and partly on the now unstable pile of boxes where it had been resting. After making sure they were alone, she asked, "Erik? Erik, are you alright?"

"Ugh! I think so. Is it safe to come out?"

Christine again looked around and, seeing nobody, told him, "The car is empty."

When Erik unlatched the coffin lid, gravity propelled him out onto the floor in the narrow space between the coffin and the next stack of cargo boxes. Just then a railroad official entered the car along with Squelch so Erik quickly rolled under a canvas that was draped over the stack of cargo boxes. When the official saw the coffin precariously resting against the floor with Christine bending over it, he asked, "Are you alright, Mademoiselle? This ride can be a little rough in places, I'm afraid. This is why I was trying to convince you to ride in the passenger car." When he reached to help her up, she noticed one of Erik's feet protruding from beneath the canvas covering and looked from the official to the coffin and did a stage faint, partly covering Erik's foot. Predictably, the official fussed over Christine while Squelch went to the coffin.

The lid was slightly ajar, being hinged on the upper side, and he could see that it was empty, so he surreptitiously looked around the area to find where Erik had gone while pretending to attempt to lift the full weight of the coffin and body back up to where it had been, much as he had once pretended to lift super heavy weights in the circus that often weighed no more than forty or fifty pounds. But it appeared to be too heavy for even Squelch to lift and he asked the official, "Would it be permissible to lower the coffin completely to the floor for the last part of the journey? We must be almost there and it would seem a lot of trouble to go to for just a few more minutes' trip?"

The official, busy trying to revive Christine, nodded impatiently, "Yes, yes, go ahead. It makes no matter at this point. We will be unloading at Marseilles in less than an hour anyway."

Once Squelch had it solidly resting on the floor, he turned to help Christine out to the passenger car to recover. As she was getting up, she momentarily lost her footing and fell, tapping on Erik's foot to get him to pull it in out of sight before allowing them to help her up. "Oh! I'm so sorry, Monsieur. So clumsy of me!" These were standard moves on stage that they often made use of during a production because there were always things going wrong on the set and they often had to make hidden adjustments during a show.

"No trouble there, Mademoiselle. You just take your time and allow us to help you along," said the official, helping Christine get to her feet.

When she was on her feet and heading for the exit, the official turned abruptly and reached toward Erik's hiding place, "What's this?" Erik froze and Christine held her breath as he reached down and lifted the corner of the tarp to reveal Erik's kepi and picked it up.

Christine let out the air she'd been holding, "Oh! His kepi! Babette took it out of the coffin to hold and must have forgotten to replace it."

Squelch reached out for it, saying, "I'll take care of that when I return," and set it on top of the coffin.

Nadir entered the car as Squelch was leaving, "Everything alright back here?" he asked, glancing around the car and noticing the coffin on the floor. "What's this?"

"Christine couldn't get him to stop snoring and …"

"Never mind; I'll ask Erik. I think someone is waiting for you?" Then louder he said, "I'll just check to make sure everything is in order inside. We can talk later."

Once the door was closed, Nadir asked, "If you didn't want to ride in that infernal thing, why didn't you say so in the first place?"

Erik groaned and snarled, "Being thrown out of it was not part of the plan. Is Christine alright?"

"She's fine." When Erik was about to protest Nadir put up his hands. "She staged that faint to cover up your foot that you left sticking out in the aisle." Nadir offhandedly popped something into his mouth and began chewing.

"What are you eating?"

"Hmm?"

"You know very well what I asked you. What is it?"

"You mean this?" and Nadir held out his hand with a few cashew nuts in it.

Erik reached for some but Nadir pulled away."That's all I have!"

"Really?" asked Erik imperiously and began to slowly walk around Nadir.

Nadir watched him nervously. "What are you up to?"

Erik looked away for a moment and Nadir followed his gaze and as quick as a viper, Erik snatched a bag of nuts from Nadir's pocket. "Haha! My magic has not left me! Even now, see what I have conjured up from your very pocket!" said Erik, waving his hands around the bag as if performing in a magic show.

"Give those back! Those are for all of us to share," he said lunging for the bag of nuts while Erik grinned at him smugly, keeping the bag just beyond his reach.

"So you say, yet you weren't about to offer any to me, your dear departed … corpse. Tell you what, I'll give you back two-thirds of the nuts…" Nadir reached for the bag, "Na-uh-uh… First you empty and clean out my… jar. Then you can have the nuts."

A noise from the next car distracted Erik and Nadir grabbed at the bag, spilling half or more onto the floor. Erik quickly slipped into the coffin with what was left of them and closed the lid just before the official entered the car. "I thought I heard voices in here. Who are you talking to, Monsieur?" He sniffed the air, "Do I smell cashew nuts?"

Nadir stooped down and began filling his pockets with nuts from the floor, "Yes, I tripped and spilled a bag of nuts all over the floor and was berating myself for being so clumsy."

Erik was dying of unexpressed laughter inside the coffin, listening to Nadir talk his way out of the predicament. He managed to swallow the nuts he had in his mouth before he could choke on them and swallowed some water from his canteen to wash them down. Nadir could hear him moving around inside and hoped the official's hearing was not as sharp as his own. Just the same, he moved to the vicinity of the coffin to collect the cashews that had fallen there, now and then bumping the coffin.

"Excuse me," offered the official, "but are you sure you want to eat them after they've been on the floor back here?"

"Oh, it should be no problem. I'll have my fiancée rinse them off and have them re-roasted when we get to the ship. I'm sure it won't be a problem."

'_Re-roasted?'_ thought Erik. _He is really spinning tales now!_

"Well, I came back here to tell you that we should be pulling into the station in about fifteen minutes. If you can assemble all your luggage together with the coffin, we might be able to transfer it all to the ship in one lot. Make things simpler all around."

"Yes. That makes sense. Would you kindly send Monsieur Squelch back here to lend a hand?"

"I will do that." And he left the car.

Nadir let out his breath.

Erik laughed so hard his side started hurting again.

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The transfer from the rail car to the ship went fairly smoothly. Surprising them all, they were informed that since they had gone through customs in Paris, they were exempt from doing so at Marseilles. While waiting for them to begin loading, Nadir had found a shop where he could buy cashew nuts and got a supply for Erik, along with some snacks for themselves. After less than an hour of waiting, Erik, Erik's coffin and all their belongings were loaded into a cargo net and hoisted from the dock to the hold of the ship.

(POV Erik)

_Of course, I had misgivings about being hauled up into the air in a box in a cargo net, then lowered into the open cargo bay and down into the deep hull of a large ship. If I ever create an amusement park, perhaps I will recreate the experience for paying customers. Not sure how I would go about it – I certainly couldn't trap people inside a box and haul them up into the air! It might be hard getting permits for stuff like that for a public park … Something to think about for the future. Maybe strap them into a seat and create the illusion that they were in an enclosed space and have a moving light show give the impression of the ride they were on without actually doing it, or at least not to that extent. But what am I doing, lying here planning an amusement park while I am on my way to exile in far off Africa? Algiers. Wonder what the place is like? What the people are like? Are they more forgiving of my appearance than those superstitious, self-righteous and pompous fools in Paris? _

_Perhaps it wouldn't matter_, I thought, popping a few cashews into my mouth. _Once Christine and I were married and I could find a few businesses to set my hands to, perhaps people here would treat me as one of them. Until then, Babette said she had a place for me to hide until I was fully recovered._

_It was an odd feeling to feel oneself being raised and then swinging free and then lowered without being able to see where we were going or having any control over your means of locomotion. I will definitely have to devise some sort of attraction that simulates this! The trick is to make it safe…_

_Ugh! We must have hit the bottom of the hull. I certainly hope there was nothing breakable in any of our belongings or it might have broken with that impact! It felt like I was dropped the final three meters to the deck of the hull. Now I can hear voices directing how the cargo is to be arranged… yes! I hear Squelch's voice directing them on where to put our things – including yours truly! Huh! Some of the cargo handlers want to see inside the coffin! Hah! Wouldn't they be surprised! But good job Squelch – is that Nadir's voice? Yes! – telling them that the coffin is sealed and to mind their own business. Well, that won't likely satisfy them for long and we have about three nights, unless … Nah. No sense courting trouble by thinking about the possibility of storms and such._

_I wish those other workers would leave so I could see my new surroundings. Hah! Nadir can be so clever… He just asked the cargo handlers to show him where he might find something to eat for himself and Squelch. Good man!_

_When they were gone I unlocked the lid and peeked out before opening it fully and sitting up. It was good to get some fresher air, not that the air in the hold was that fresh smelling. Apparently I and our things had been placed in a smaller hold area apart from the main cargo hold. Hearing a noise, I ducked back into the coffin._

"Coast is clear," came Squelch's voice. "They're preparing to launch so all hands are topside, as they call it."

I sat back up, continuing to view my surroundings. "And where are the ladies?"

"They are in a cabin together and Nadir and I share a second cabin next to theirs. The cabins are small, but it is only for three nights, we've been told, so it is more than adequate. Much better than your own accommodations, I might add." He gave me a worried look, "Are you sure you will be alright here? The ladies may not be able to visit you as often as on the train."

"Understood. It would be highly irregular to have women coming down here, even to accompany a corpse." _But it would be a great comfort to see Christine, now and then. _"But this is only for two days. We can handle that." _and then we will be married! _"Have you devised a plan to get me some food now and then?"

"Yes, actually. We thought one or the other of the ladies would feign illness and request a tray in her room. Then either Nadir or I could bring some of it down here to you."

"No more than once each day would be sufficient, and don't worry if it isn't possible. I have never eaten much as it were and at present my appetite is not yet up to trying to consume what might be considered a full meal. The larger problem might be in finding a way to conceal the food, while keeping it away from the rats that typically inhabit such places as this."

"Nadir had that in mind when he procured two metal lunch pails while in Marseilles. We can simply tell anyone who asks that I cannot leave my post and would be taking an occasional meal down here while on duty."

"I like that plan. Good work! For now, I think I will go back inside for the night. If you need me or to get inside for something, just tap three times, but first make sure you are not seen."

Erik climbed awkwardly into the coffin, getting his casted leg settled first before making himself comfortable, while Squelch watched him with misgivings then shook his head, "Pardon me, Monsieur, but I don't see how you can be so carefree about sleeping inside a coffin!"

Erik shook his head briefly, "You must understand, Squelch, that until recently my life has been little more than a series of horrors, from which I have at times tried to escape by one means or another. Sleeping in a coffin was only a way to remind myself that this life did not want any more to do with me than I with it. It was my main comfort to know that I was ready for whatever might come next."

"That sounds sad."

"Yes, I suppose it was, but it was all that I ever knew – until Christine. And now I have the pleasure of dreaming of Christine, and so I bid you a good night!" And Erik closed the cover and latched it from the inside, just to be safe.

As luck would have it, locking the coffin from the inside had been a useful idea, keeping unwanted attention at bay while the coffin was unattended. One particular ship's hand that had helped to load and position the coffin had asked about the person inside. Nadir and Squelch had told him, in the most horrific way they could think of, how Erik had died in the war and what his injuries had been. The hand tried to convince them to let him see inside, but Nadir had told him that the coffin had been sealed and could not be opened. Later that night when Squelch took a break to use the facilities, the hand saw his chance and entered the small cargo room by picking the lock. Once inside, he tried just lifting the lid, to no avail. He brought the lamp closer to the coffin to look for the nails that must be holding the lid in place, but couldn't find any. When he started working at the lid with a pry-bar, Erik had had enough.

Erik unlatched the lid from the inside and opened it – slowly – then turned and smiled at the guy and said, in his spookiest voice, allowing it to echo around the room, "Good evening. Can I help you?"

The deck hand looked at Erik's face and his skeletal appearance, and froze with fright.

"Would you care to join me?" and he pulled out his Punjab lasso and made as if to climb out of the coffin. "It can be arranged. Or perhaps you want to report this to your commander?"

The deck hand was beginning to back away, shaking his head, "No!..No, I don't want… I mean I didn't see nothing…. I won't tell anyone!"

Erik continued in a silky haunting voice that seemed to come from everywhere and had the deck hand looking around the room uneasily. "Of course not. Who would believe you? You'd be a laughing stock, maybe even fired, thrown in the brig for tampering."

"No! I won't tell nobody! I…I didn't see nothing!" and he turned and ran, crashing into the bulkhead before finding the door and running away.

Erik let out an evil laugh that seemed to follow the deck hand all the way to his quarters.

**O0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0oo0o0o**

**Read and Review, if you like!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Thank you to all who have read this and wondered where it was going. Well, hold onto your hats. There is a story here, though a bit different from the norm. And thank you! to my reviewers and especially to Filhound for all she does for these chapters!**

**Unfortunately, I do not own any of ALW's characters : Erik, Christine, Raoul, Nadir, Squelch or Dr. Dangle. If I did life might be a little easier!**

**Revenge Chapter 6 Chasing Wild Geese**

Raoul found himself comfortably satisfied with the reports of his agents. It appeared that an agent for Erik , someone called a 'Mister Squelch', had secured passage for a rather large wooden box (almost seven feet long according to his reports) for a destination in America called 'Coney Island', wherever that was. And this crate was to be under the strictest security. He also learned that it was to be rushed through customs and delivered immediately to a hospital that two mysterious and anonymous benefactors had established there for the entertainers. It was all rather suspicious and he determined to go there in person to find out what it was all about. I mean, a crate seven feet long? That sounded suspiciously like a coffin – a coffin large enough to live in for several weeks! No, no, no… he was NOT going to get away with it this time. The demon may have fooled the French courts and the French newspapers, but Raoul knew better and would show them all the truth about the phantom. This time Raoul would be there to nab him the minute he stepped from the box!

Which was why he was even now in a first class stateroom on board the _Atlantic Queen,_ nearing New York City. He could see it all now… the creature would step from the crate directly into his trap. He would turn him over to the port authorities and their faces would be in all the papers – his the handsome and dashing French Vicomte who had finally caught this heinous criminal - contrasting with the image of the hideous demon. He would become famous in America as well as France. They might even give him a parade, maybe even design a statue of him for their new park in the center of the city! Of course, he would have to oversee its creation and the artistry of the plinth on which it was to stand. Yes, le Vicomte Raoul de Chagny would finally have his due!

A knock at the door roused him from his reverie, "Yes? Enter."

A uniformed officer entered, "Mister de Chagny?"

"That's Monsieur le Vicomte de Chagny to you, sir," he replied testily.

Nonplussed, the officer repeated dryly, "Mister de Chagny, you are requested to assemble your customs paperwork, along with your hand baggage, and join the other first class passengers in the forward landing bay. We will be docking in about one hour."

"You can send someone for my luggage…"

"Sir, I am a United States Customs Officer, I am not your lackey. If you want to arrange for steward service, you can ring that bell next to your door. I, er, trust you have exchanged your money and have the proper denominations to tip the man."

"I certainly do not! I have no intention of paying someone for the priveledge of assisting me to the customs office!"

The officer rolled his eyes with a smirk, "You emigrants are all alike, think you can push people around with your fancy titles. Well, here in America your title and two bits will get you a cup of coffee and a doughnut!" He checked off the room number on a clipboard he pulled from under his arm, then turned on his heel and left.

"Well, of all the insufferable obnoxious public servants! How dare he speak to me like that! I will be sure to have a word with his superiors before I leave this ship!" he muttered to himself as he packed up his belongings. "I wonder what a 'dow-nut' is? Something to eat, most likely. Or maybe it's a place to sit, to drink your coffee? A 'down-at'?"

Presently a cabin steward arrived and Raoul showed him the bags that needed to be carried to the disembarkation deck. The steward agreed to carry them, then held out his hand for a tip.

Raoul reached into his pocket and pulled out several sous and a centime and put them in the steward's hand. "I'm sorry sir, but that's no good in New York. You'll have to get your money converted to dollars and cents before we dock."

"And where, might I ask, do I do that?" asked Raoul, growing more impatient as the time for disembarking drew closer. He had to follow that crate so he could be there when it was opened.

"It's right on the way. I can show you, if you like."

"That would be nice, and thank you for being so helpful!"

"Oh, it's no trouble." And he started down the passageway with Raoul's luggage in tow, mentally calculating how much he would charge this foreign dandy as a tip for being so 'helpful'.

After they left the exchange office, where Raoul was indignant at only receiving $2000 American dollars for the 3000 French francs he'd handed over ("legal brigands" he'd called them), they had to wait with the other first class passengers. Raoul surreptitiously looked over the other passengers and wondered to himself how they could have ever afforded first-class passage. For the most part they appeared to be no better than Bourgeois shop keepers and traders. As he looked them over with a good deal of skepticism, his eye caught sight of a delivery wagon making its way down the pier away from their location. He started with horror as he noted the crate prominently positioned in the bed of the wagon.

"Wait! That wagon! Where is it going? I have to go with that wagon!"

"I'm sorry, sir, but you have to be processed through customs first," said the droll voice of the steward who had told hundreds of passengers the same thing. "You have to wait your turn."

"But that wagon! Where is it going? I have to follow it!" Then he pulled out what he hoped was a trump card, "It's a police matter!"

"A police matter, you say? What sort of police matter?" asked the steward, his interest piqued.

"It… I can't say, exactly… Are there policemen here?"

"One moment," replied the steward. "I'll be right back."

"Can't you stop them? They're getting away!" By now Raoul was nearly frantic, craning his neck in an attempt to see over the heads of the other - taller - passengers and stewards waiting as he watched the wagon disappear in all the traffic coming and going from the docks.

He was startled by a policeman tapping him on the shoulder with his night stick. Raoul turned around and brushed off his jacket with disdain. He opened his mouth to complain, but then thought better of it and shut his mouth.

"Did you want something, sir?" Raoul detected a definite Irish brogue in his speech. _What a country this is, hiring Irish immigrants for their police officers! The scum of the earth!_

"Uhm, yes, I…" _ It does throw one off to not be called by their proper title!_ "Good Day, Sir. My name is de Chagny and I need to follow that delivery wagon that just left the docks."

"Well, Mister Chagny, " (Raoul cringed inside, _That name again!)_ " I don't see how that would be possible, since you have yet to be processed. But I was led to believe that you were sayin' this was a police matter? "

"Yes, it is."

"Hmm, and in what way might that be?" The policeman seemed rather nonplussed, maybe even a bit amused, for the circumstances, as if he had done something like this before – many times before.

"Well, this might seem rather silly," he laughed nervously, "but I believe there is a man inside the large crate they removed from the ship."

"A man you say? And what would make you be thinking such a thing?"

Raoul was almost jumping out of his skin, pointing to the docks, "They are getting away, sir, while we stand here quibbling at words!"

"Next!" called a voice from the processing desk.

"Here!' Raoul called back, raising his hand, then turning to the policeman with a simpering smile, "You will excuse me for a moment?"

"Of course," he said with a slight smirk and took a few steps away from Raoul to wait.

By the time Raoul had explained to the immigration official that his birthplace was the Canton of Chagny in the Arrondissement of Saone-et-Loire, in the Department of Burgundy, the clerk was so confused that he simply wrote 'Shagney, France' on Raoul's papers, then changed it to 'Chagny' at Raoul's direction. They were finally finished and Raoul was given the OK to proceed and returned to the policeman.

"Now, sir, you were saying something about a man being inside that rather large box?" asked the officer, getting directly to the point.

"Yes, well, it's a rather long story and in the mean time they are escaping. Perhaps I could tell you along the way?"

The officer gave Raoul a once-over and sighed, "Very well. This way…" and he started for the gangplank leading to the dock.

"Ahem?"

Raoul turned to see the steward standing with his luggage, his hand extended toward Raoul.

"Oh, yes, I suppose…"and Raoul handed him a new dollar bill, fully aware that it was worth three French francs, what would be considered more than adequate back home.

But the steward remained with his hand outstretched.

"What?"

"I did more than simply carry your bags, sir…" (_ This fop has more money than he knows what to do with, and on top of that he isn't familiar with the exchange rate. It shouldn't be hard to get a few extra bills out of him!)_

"Oh, very well…" and Raoul added another dollar bill, but the hand remained while the police officer made a show of pulling out his pocket watch to check the time as he waited at the bottom of the gang plank.

"Fine!" declared Raoul and added a third dollar bill to the stack in the steward's hand.

The steward smiled and did a slight bow, tucking the bills into his pocket, "Thank you so much, sir!" (_That's almost three weeks' wages just for following this dandy around on the ship for a few minutes! Not bad, not bad a-tall!) _He then followed Raoul who followed the officer to a waiting carriage and loaded his luggage into the back.

Once they were settled in the carriage, the officer turned to Raoul. He could see by the cut and fabric of his clothes that he was well to do and not your typical immigrant. "May I see your papers, please?"

Raoul handed him his new passport. "There seems to be an error here. They gave your name for your place of birth."

"That's no error and what does it matter to you anyway?" Raoul rolled his eyes and shot back, testily.

The officer's face was beginning to color. _(Such sass, and from a foreigner at that!)_ The officer was becoming more and more irritated with this dandy French Sassenach. He himself was Patrick O'Neill of the O'Neills of County Clare. His ancestor was King Brian Boru and you didn't see him putting on airs. Raoul reminded him of the bloody Sassenach Lords who starved his family back in '45. He bore the same arrogant airs, carrying on as if they owned the land where they walked...

"Well it don't but I am just makin' polite conversation." And he pointed a fisted finger at Raoul, "You don't have to strut around here like a stuffed peacock and get your bee in a bonnet over it, boyo! And I'll be thankin' ye t' keep a civil tongue in your head!" And he shoved the passport back to Raoul.

Raoul snatched the passport from the officer and shoved it into his satiny vest pocket, thinking, _Of all the insufferable characters I end up meeting! I sincerely hope that not all Americans are like this! Preposterous! A total lack of manners and decency!_

"Now, what about the man in the box?"

Raoul looked out the window to see that they were weaving in and out of the congested traffic on the dock and heading toward the equally congested city street beyond. "Might I ask where we are going, sir?"

"While you were busy with customs, I consulted with your steward who happened to have a list of cargo and destinations that listed a rather large crate, destined for Coney Island. It seemed to match your description, so that is where my driver is taking us."

"Excellent!" declared Raoul.

"You sound surprised. We Americans are able to think as well as anyone else… maybe even better at times."

Raoul simply harrumphed at that.

The officer smirked, "Now. About the man."

"Yes, well, I'm sure you have heard of the 'Phantom of the Opera' of Paris, France?"

"Not really. Is that a show?"

_Some know-it-all! This is going to be harder than I thought. These people are more ignorant than I was prepared to deal with. _ "He is a man who has been pretending to be a ghost that was haunting the opera house in Paris, the Palais Garnier, and has committed numerous murders and kidnappings and was presumably killed by a mob and subsequent fire about a month ago."

"And you're believing he had himself shipped here? In a box? I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy! If he was killed, how can this be him?"

"He is a very clever person, a genius some might say, but he didn't fool us! We could see his true nature, that of a demon with only half a face. He is a magician, a conjuror, a ventriloquist and has many other talents of deception. It was said that he often slept in a coffin – a coffin, monsieur, that would have fit nicely inside that box with room to spare.

"After the debacle at the opera house," went on Raoul proudly, "we were able to trace his whereabouts to a house of ill repute just outside of Paris, but when we got there, he was gone – along with some of his confederates. But we found a copy of a shipping manifest showing that this large box was to be sent to a place called 'Coney Island', so here I am, intending to catch him once and for all!"

"Does that not seem a bit, er, convenient, to be finding shipping papers for his secret escape route?"

"No. Of course not. The paper was found in a waste basket that a maid was about to empty into a trash bin. Fortunately, we got there just in time to prevent her disposing of the evidence," he proudly told the officer.

"That sounds like an excellent bit of sleuthing or an incredible stroke of luck. " _(Or a cleverly set-up ruse on the part of that phantom character! _he thought. _Yes, a very clever fellow, that phantom! He would bet that on the next day there was a similarly sized crate being shipped to an entirely different destination. But he didn't want to spoil this fop's fun, so he played along. If nothing else it would be fun to see this dandy's expression when they found no phantom!)_

The carriage crossed a bridge and the officer announced, "Well, this is Coney Island. Do you have any notion of where they would be taking the crate?"

Raoul pulled out the crumpled shipping document and smoothed it out on his thigh, "It says here the 'Coney Island Entertainers' Clinic', but there's no address."

The officer looked out the window, "I suppose we might be asking someone?"

He was about to hail someone dressed as a clown when Raoul cried out, "There! Behind that building!" and pointed to where four men were loading a large crate onto a delivery wagon.

They stopped the horses nearby and Raoul cried out, stepping from the carriage, "Hold it right there! Put down that crate!"

"Wait just a minute, Mr. Chagny! You can't go around shouting orders at people! Let me handle this." The officer walked over to the group of people and asked who was in charge?

A very tall and thin man separated himself from the others and came to stand near Raoul and the officer. "I suppose that would be me, Officer. How can I help you?"

"Well, this might seem a bit unusual, but I'd like to be seeing what's inside your crate, if you've no objections, that is?"

"Inside the crate? Why would anyone want to do that? It's just some clothing and blankets for the hospital and the Performers' Relief Society. Jimmy?" and he turned to one of the men helping with the crate, "Open it up for them."

As Raoul came closer to the box he pulled out a pistol and there were shouts of, "Hey, Mister!" and "What're you doing?"

The officer turned and asked for the gun, which Raoul surrendered reluctantly.

"Now, please open the box?" asked the officer.

The inside was as they had been told, packed with blankets and articles of clothing for adults and children alike, much of it appearing to be brand new.

Raoul took a step closer to the box, "Wait a minute! Why is there a large depression down the middle of the box?"

The officer looked again and could see where a definite depression in the form of a man down the full center of the box had been partly filled in with loose clothing.

"Where is he?" demanded Raoul. "Where is the Phantom?"

Some of the assembled entertainers began to move toward Raoul and the officer in a threatening way.

"Who wants to know?" It was the tall man who had greeted them when they'd arrived. "More to the point, WHY do you want to know?"

"I do!" exclaimed Raoul, "He's a murderer and a kidnapper and I am taking him back to France to stand trial! Now, where is he?"

The men looked from one to the other, perplexed, and began to chuckle, then laugh, and soon they were guffawing and slapping each other on the back. "This was the best joke you have ever pulled, Doctor. Great way to introduce him!"

"I assure you, this is no joke! Where is he?"demanded Raoul, growing flustered by their hilarity.

The tall man they had addressed as 'Doctor' bowed slightly and swept his arm toward the door to the building, "Right this way, gentleman, although you had me going for awhile there! He's such a showman! I wish he were here to run this place!"

"Who?" demanded Raoul, following him toward the building. "You're talking gibberish!"

"Why, Mr. Mulheim! He's president of Mulheim Industries and makes these for us."

Once inside, the man opened what looked like a closet door and reached inside to flip a toggle switch, "Gentlemen, allow me to present 'The Phantom of the Opera!'" and he stepped aside to allow a life-size automaton of Erik to walk out of the closet, take hold of the edge of his cape and sweep it around himself as he turned and walked back inside the closet.

Everyone but Raoul applauded. Raoul just stood there, slack-jawed, staring at the closet door. "That! That THING is what was in the box?"

"Of course. What else would have been in there? Did you expect a live person?" At this the others broke out in a new round of laughter and back-slapping and knee-slapping. The officer was turning purple trying not to laugh, but gave up and let out a loud hoot that doubled him over.

Raoul looked around at all the laughing faces and began to turn red. For the first time he noticed that these people were not just entertainers, they were freaks! Freaks that were very tall and thin, like the 'Doctor', freaks that were midgets, some with only one arm, or a withered leg, or with a port wine stain on one's face and for the first time, he noticed that at least two of them were blind! He needed to get out of there! He was surrounded by freaks! He finally smiled with a smile that didn't reach his angrily squinted eyes and said, "Very funny!" He delivered a solid kick to the box, possibly injuring his foot, and limped back to the carriage. "Officer? Are you coming?" Once inside the carriage he began rubbing his foot and mumbling incoherently in French.

The officer chuckled as he got into the carriage, "Did that make you feel better now, boyo?"

Raoul glowered at the officer before curtly telling him, "Yes, it did!"

Raoul didn't say another word during the entire trip back to the ship, although the officer let slip a chuckle or two followed by Raoul throwing him an angry glare.

Raoul was able to book passage on the Atlantic Queen as it headed back to Cherbourg.

**O0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0oo**


	7. Chapter 7

**Many thanks again to Filhound for keeping be aware of the political background for this story! And thank you to those who have read and reviewed these chapters. It really does encourage me to write more. But unfortunately, it doesn't change the fact that I don't own any of ALW's characters. But enjoy the story anyhow!**

**Revenge Ch 7**

The weather at the port of Algiers was uncommonly warm and they all hoped that Erik's coffin would be processed quickly through customs. From Babette they had learned that they themselves and most of their luggage would be free from any sort of customs inspection when they reached Algiers. However, due to increasing tensions between Algerian native populations and French authorities, any cargo large enough to hold weapons would be likely to be inspected. Including coffins. Especially coffins, being a perfect size for smuggling rifles.

Nadir came up with the idea to enhance Erik's cover story by absconding with some raw meat from the kitchen and allowing it to 'age' in the hold where the coffin was being kept, then upon arrival at the dock, attaching the meat to the underside of the lid of the coffin so that when the customs officer opened the lid to ascertain the contents, the combination of the stench and a glimpse of Erik's unmasked face would be enough for the official. Erik thought this was a terrible idea and swore revenge on Nadir were they to implement it, but he eventually gave in as he could not think of a better plan. The ruse went off as planned and as soon as they were out of the city traffic, Erik opened the coffin and tossed the meat to the side of the road, leaving the coffin lid partly ajar to air it out. As the coffin had been draped in a black funerary cloth, Erik was able to extricate himself from it, change his clothes and ride in the carriage as part of the escort. His coffin would have to be aired out later.

Babette knew the route well, having traveled it numerous times while building up her establishment outside of Algiers in the area called Birkhadem, a district of homes with walled courtyards lining narrow alley-like streets, some peppered with even narrower alleys wound between them. By the time they arrived, Erik needed help to get down from the carriage and into the brothel's rear entrance. They took him to her private quarters and got him into bed. It had been a grueling trip for a person in Erik's condition, but they were finally safe from Raoul and his spies. The rooms in Babette's home were surprisingly cool, yet Erik was perspiring heavily. Nadir helped them get him out of his suit and into bed. Christine repeatedly bathed his face and chest with cool water and Nadir prepared a dose of a peppermint extract to try to bring his temperature down. It was several hours before he stopped perspiring, but then began shivering. Babette brought warm blankets and Christine crawled under them with him to help generate some gentle heat for him. It was almost an hour later that his breathing slowed down to a steady, deep rate, signifying that he was finally asleep.

POV Erik

Darkness. I must still be inside the coffin? But the air smells sweet and cool… and is that lavender I smell? I must be dreaming of Christine. But, Oh! My muscles ached. I needed to stretch… but… what's this? I can't move my arm! What is holding my arm down? I tried again and felt something moving against me! It startled me to think that something alive had joined me inside the coffin, but then I heard the soft, sleepy murmur, "Mmn … Erik… Sh-h."

I reached my hand around and could feel another person lying next to me. So I must not be in the coffin? Where was I? I explored further to find that this other person smelled of Christine and was wearing only a night dress. With my free hand I gingerly traced the outline of the dress, my hand brushing over the soft rise of her breasts, causing her nipples to harden. She moaned then and wrapped an arm across my chest. Suddenly I was aware that I was not wearing a shirt. I felt downward and was relieved to find that I had on a pair of sleep pants.

I wracked my memory to find how I had come to be in this situation with Christine. I tightened my hold on her tiny waist and drew her even closer to me to plant a kiss on her forehead. My last memory had been of getting out of that coffin and sitting with Babette and Nadir…

"Erik?" She turned toward me and placed a hand on my forehead. "How are you feeling?"

I kissed her hand. "Like I would like to wake up like this every morning for the rest of our lives!"

I felt as much as heard her soft giggle in response, "I'm sure that can be arranged." She pulled herself up and gave me a light kiss and I turned and responded with a deeper kiss that took her breath away.

I started to push her back down and roll over on top of her before a sharp pain in my side and another in my shoulder caused me to freeze and fall back. "Ugh! I forgot. Sorry."

"Sh-h. My wounded warrior. You should be resting."

"And how am I supposed to do that with a wanton woman sharing my bed?"

" 'Wanton woman'? If you weren't injured I would tickle you!"

I chuckled. It felt so good to be able to banter with her. "You wouldn't!"

"I would! In fact, I just might do it right now…" and she went for my uninjured side, but only briefly because even that hurt a little.

When she felt me stiffen she stopped and rested her hand on my chest. "OK, Mister Mulheim, you need to rest." And she got out of the bed and slipped into her dress. "Would you like some water? Or some tea?"

"Some tea would be very nice, but I have rested enough. I am wide awake now. What can we find to occupy the time?"

"I'm sure you'll think of something by the time I return**!"** and with a sassy smile she left the room by way of a door I hadn't noticed before, the light coming from beyond the door displaying her swaying hips, taunting me further. I loved her so much, I could hardly wait until we were wed. It would be soon, as soon as I could make arrangements.

POV Christine

Hearing the sound of Erik's beautiful, rich voice once again all but brought me to tears. I loved him so much! I hadn't realized how much I had missed the simple sound of his voice! Nadir was in the kitchen when I got there and asked about Erik. I told him that he was awake, but in a little pain. He gave me a small amount of a potion to add to Erik's tea. He said it would help with the pain and help him to sleep. But by the time I got back to Erik he was sound asleep. I set the tea things on a nearby table and couldn't resist the temptation to sit and watch him sleep. He was rarely so peaceful and, yes, angelic. The worry lines that so often furrowed his brow were gone, giving him a most noble appearance, not unlike the Greek statues I'd seen in museums. I was about to pull a sheet up over his chest, but paused, relishing the strong musculature he displayed, even in repose, and cringed at the many scars that criss-crossed his body. Finally I took note of the more recent green and brown bruising on his side in the shape of a heavy work boot and the more irregular bruise at his shoulder where he'd somehow dislocated it, and the fading greenish circles under his eyes from the concussion. What horrors this poor man had been subjected to, all because he was born with a disfigured face. I ached to take him in my arms and make it all go away. I gently covered him up and slipped out of the room. I wiped a tear from my eye and looked up suddenly into the face of Nadir as I was closing the door.

He gave me an understanding look and took me in his arms, "He has endured much worse than this, my dear. He is a survivor!"

"But he shouldn't have to! It just isn't fair!" I was embarrassed at the tears that began to flow in earnest from my eyes, but it was hard not to feel so badly for him.

He held me at arm's length and looked at me with compassion, "No it isn't, but it is what it is and Erik has learned to be very strong and to overcome the many wrongs that have been dealt him, as have you. And with you beside him, there is nothing that can destroy him. Allah be praised! You can't know just how pleased I am that he has found a woman like you, someone who truly loves him and will stand by him, no matter what. But for now, we'll let him sleep. When he wakes you can give him the medicine I prepared. In the mean time you also need to rest. I will have Squelch bring a cot to his room for you, so you do not need to leave him, but can still rest."

I nodded and went down the hallway to find the kitchen and make some tea for myself and a place to clean up a bit before returning to Erik.

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Babette left word with Nadir that she was going into the city of Algiers for some supplies they would be needing. Nadir offered to accompany her, but she said she would go with a distant cousin of hers, named Robért, who regularly accompanied her when she was in town. She felt safer with him as he knew all the secret by-ways they might need to use if an emergency arose. Besides, the others might need Nadir's assistance here. Robert brought along a donkey.

She made her way up and down the several miles of hilly terrain to the outskirts of the old district of Kouba and to the small carpet weaver's home, a man called Ahmed. When she arrived he was just closing a deal with another customer, so she waited, examining various samples of the weavers' work. The rugs were beautiful with even weaving and intricate knotting in vibrant colors.

The other customer left with a delivery promise for the next day and Ahmed came over to speak with Babette, greeting her with a bow and a flourish, "Ah! Madam Babette! _Salaam Alai kum_! Your beauty shames my humble shop. How may I be of assistance to you today?"

"_Wa Alaikum Salaam_, Ahmed! The beauty of your rugs have no need for shame as they bring the glorious aura of all of nature into radiant display," she replied with a slight bow. "I was wondering if the shipment I had ordered would be arriving soon?"

"Yes-s... your shipment is scheduled to arrive in about one week. There was a slight delay due to the, er, paperwork, but that has been taken care of, Madam."

"Good! You are most efficient in your dealings with… paperwork, and I look forward to the arrival of my goods!" She forced a smile and walked to some carpets she had been examining while waiting. "In the mean time, Ahmed, could you send over one of these carpets? The colors are lovely and will brighten up my drab parlor." She ran her hand over the surface of one of the smaller carpets. "This one will do nicely." She reached into the folds of her robe and pulled out a pouch and took several gold pieces from it and handed them to him, "I think that should cover it?"

Ahmed took the coins and bowed, "You are most generous, Madam. I thank you for your business."

She bowed back to him, "I thank you for your discretion. _Salaam._"

"_Salaam_!" And he bowed as she left the shop and headed for the city to finish her errands.

O0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

As usual for a Wednesday, the market was busy, noisy and hot. She led (pulled, cajoled) her burro through the crowded streets, stopping here and there to make purchases, expertly bartering with vendors in a way that honored them and their goods, and yet yielded more comfortable prices than those displayed or hawked in the booths. All the vendors seemed to know her and yielded quickly in their bargaining.

It was three hours later that she arrived back home, tugging a reluctant burro and with her heavily laden 'cousin' trotting alongside, both laden with packages, tins and boxes. Once inside the courtyard, she told him, "Robért, for your kind assistance, I will give you a choice: one French franc, or your choice of my girls for an hour."

Robért's eyes lit up. "Oh, Madam, you are most kind! If you please, I would like to stay and visit awhile with one of your ladies!" And he bowed deeply.

She chuckled, "Of course you may! Leave your shoes here and step inside."

"Of course, Madam! _Salaam_!" and he was gone.

She smiled, thinking how eager these young men were to help her, knowing what their pay would consist of. The strong young men of the area congregated in front of the coffee shops, waiting for business as porters. They especially watched for Madame Babette because they knew they would be given the choice between being paid with coins or the pleasures of one of her girls. As for Robért, she suspected that he had his eyes on a certain girl by the name of Yasmina.

O0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

His leg was healing now, after about a week of restless 'resting', and he could even hobble around without a cane or crutch to impede him. But the confounded thing had begun to itch… beneath the cast where he couldn't reach it with even his long and slender fingers.

"This is going to drive me crazy! Persian, are there no magic potions in your extensive repertoire to assuage this maddening sensation?"

Nadir had just arrived in Erik's room for his regular therapy ('torture', if you were to ask Erik!) session and paused at Erik's remark. "Well, since you choose to describe my efforts as torture, I thought I'd bring along some instruments of torture to make you happy!"

Erik scowled at him, "What are you on about this time?"

Nadir set down the basket of supplies he was carrying and fished out something that looked like a skinny pair of grass shears, with one tip flattened and smoothed out perpendicular to the cutting edge, and began snapping them opened and closed with a pronounced clicking sound. "Maybe it's time to cut it off, if it's that annoying?"

"Humph! I sincerely hope you are referring to this infernal cast and not to my leg!" Erik was trying to insert a piece of lath into the space between the cast and his leg, wiggling it back and forth, resulting in it snapping off inside. "ARGH! Now look what you've made me do, you and your distractions!"

"It has been five weeks. The doctor said that it should remain in place for at least six weeks, unless it became intolerably uncomfortable, which seems to be the case. Sit back on your bed now and relax your leg."

"Are you sure you know what you're doing? I AM relaxed, Persian! Look at me… THIS is relaxed!"

"Hmm, yes, of course it is." He took a soft cotton cloth from the basket and positioned it between the flat tip of the shears and Erik's leg and worked it inside the cast as far as it would go… and SNIP! The first two inches of the cast was cut. He looked at Erik, "You doing alright?"

"Shouldn't I be?"

"Shall I continue?"

"Yes! Yes! Get that thing off of me!" and he leaned back onto the pillows.

"There, that's more like it…" and he resumed pushing the shears inside and snipping at the cast.

When he suddenly stopped, Erik leaned up onto his elbow , asking, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," replied the Persian, who had moved to the foot of the bed. "Just moving to start on the other end. If I were to continue cutting only from the top, the cast might torque or twist and reinjure your leg."

"AGH!"

"Did that hurt?" Nadir quickly withdrew the shears, looking at Erik with concern.

"No… it… it tickled!"

"Tickled?"

"Yes. Just… get it done with!" Erik sat back folding his arms across his chest, determined not to give in to the ticklish sensations coming from his foot where Nadir was working. He found that by putting a bit of pressure against his side each time he felt something on his foot, the low grade ache coming from his side would cancel out some of the sensation, or at least enough to prevent him from reacting to it.

Nadir smirked as he continued working on the cast, then began to chuckle.

"What now?" demanded Erik.

"I was just thinking…"

"Must you?"

Nadir cleared his throat, "I was just thinking that you might have included this as a form of torture in the shah's dungeons!"

"What? And tickle the prisoners to death? It might be a possibility, in their weakened condition, to put such a strain on their heart… Hmm… Unfortunately, I have no intention of returning to correct this oversight."

"More's the pity for the prisoners and jailers alike. What a refreshing change it would be to hear the sounds of laughter instead of screaming coming from the cells!"

"Will you just get on with it!"

A few more snips and Nadir had finally cut open the cast. Christine then entered the room to ask if Nadir were ready for the next step. As Erik reached down to scratch at his exposed leg, Nadir brushed his hand aside, telling him to wait. "If you scratch it now you're likely to take one or more layers of skin off. That leg needs to be soaked, then gently abraded, massaged with lotion and rewrapped. Just take a look at it." Erik looked and could see that his skin had turned a brownish gray and was flaking off of his leg. _No wonder it was itching! _he thought.

"Is the tub ready?"Nadir called to Christine as she hurried from the room.

"Yes!" she called back. He helped Erik to the bathroom and they rolled up the leg of his sleep pants before helping him get settled in the tub. After awhile she began gently rubbing his leg with a small towel, rinsing it in a bucket of water and occasionally adding more warm water to keep him from getting a chill.

"Let me know if this hurts and I'll stop."

Erik smirked, "Now why would I do that?" He had been watching her working on his leg, with her hair pulled back and pinned up, her sleeves rolled up to above her elbows exposing the soft white skin of her arms, and wearing a full length apron to partly protect her dress, intently rubbing the dead skin to get it to slough off. He was mesmerized by her.

"There! That's about it," she announced. Let's get you out of there and into some dry pants …

Erik looked around, slightly panicked, "Where's Nadir?"

"He's helping Babette in the parlor, now put your good arm around my shoulder and let me help you out of the tub. I have a nice thick towel for you to dry off with and a clean pair of sleep pants for you to change into."

"Hmm… maybe you could help me to dry off and then we could do some of those , um… exercises of Nadir's?"

"And I suppose you have a few variations of your own?" She shot him a suspicious look.

"I might." And he pulled her into the tub on top of him.

"AGH! Erik! What are you…?"

"Ow! OW! Get off my leg!" he hollered, laughing.

"You pulled me in here!" She began splashing him with water.

"Oh, so that's the way you want to play, huh?" Soon they were both wet and had water all over the floor of the tiled bathroom when Nadir and Babette looked in to see what all the commotion was about.

"Nadir! Will you please help me out of here? She has me pinned down in the water."

Nadir looked at Babette and gave a half grin with a raised eyebrow, "What do you think? I say we leave them to find their own way out."

"Well, just so Erik doesn't sustain further injury?"

"You two play nice now," said Nadir, closing the door.

"Persian! You kore khar*!" Then he gave Christine a sidelong glance with a smirk, much like a cat finally cornering their prey. She shrieked and laughed as Erik made a move for her.

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Roughly 200 miles to the west, on the army base at Mers-el-Kebir, just west of Oran, a cohort of officers and men was preparing for one week of leave time in Algiers. Among them was a forty-year-old lieutenant by the name of Reynard de Ville. He was supposed to have gone more than a year ago, but a sudden outbreak of hostilities in the nearby Oran caused all able-bodied personnel to be actively engaged in fighting the native and Arab rebel elements and suppressing the rebellion which had ranged across most of eastern Algeria before it was finally quashed. After order had been re-established almost a year later, he was once again allowed to take advantage of his semi-annual one week pass. They were actually, by regulation, allowed a three day pass every other month, but here in Algeria it was either a 200-mile trip by sea to Algiers or a shorter trip across the desert to one of the more local brothels, since military personnel were not allowed to disembark from ships anywhere but Mers-el-Kebir or Algiers. Most men chose to allow their free days to accumulate until they had at least a week, or preferably nine days, to spend in the big city, including a day there and a day back aboard an old three-masted fighting ship, refitted for transporting troops.

Reynard, along with the other officers, had been sent a special invitation to an establishment with a growing reputation for pretty girls with clean bills of health, located just south of Algiers, and were most eager to explore the new pleasure palace, _La Babineau Maison de Felicite_.

**O0o0o0o0o0o00o0o0o0o0o00o**

Erik had begun helping Babette with small chores, sweeping the kitchen, washing dishes. But mostly he enjoyed working in the garden in the cool evenings or early mornings. He'd also begun taking walks, sometimes with Christine or sometimes, as now, alone and leaning more or less heavily on his cane, depending on how he was feeling. An old citadel that was being repaired drew his attention. It was about a half-mile from where he was staying, quite a distance in his weakened condition, but he would find a place to sit and observe their construction techniques, comparing them in his mind to the ones he had used in Persia and in Paris, before returning home.

One day while he watched a portion of floor gave way and was crushing two workers beneath it. Erik hurried over to help get the men out, using a long timber to lever the fallen slab up enough so the men could be extricated. In the process he examined the mix being used for the floors and found that it had too much sand in it and was far too grainy for a good set. He approached the man who seemed to be in charge to ask him about the mix he was using.

"Excuse me, Monsieur? Salaam Alai-kum!" he said bowing. "I have a question I would like to ask you."

He gave Erik a 'once over' and asked, "What do you want, Frenchman! Can't you see we're busy?"

"I would like to ask what your mix is for the cement?"

"What business is it of yours, Monsieur? It's the same as everywhere else, one to two to three: one part cement, two parts sand and three parts gravel. But this is no concern of yours, Frenchman. On your way and let us be about our business!"

About then a man not dressed in work clothes approached them, "Is there a problem here,  
Zahir?"

He answered in Arabic, "Just some snoopy French troublemaker poking his nose in where it doesn't belong!"

In Arabic, Erik added, "I was merely pointing out an unfortunate error in the composition of the cement mixture," and he put a handful of the wet cement into the man's hand. "It would appear to be rather heavy in sand and lacking in gravel."

Zahir turned pale and looked away from Erik nervously as the other man studied Erik thoughtfully.

"Zahir, what do you know about this?..." As he felt the mix his face turned red and he looked suspiciously from Zahir to Erik through slitted eyes, "Who are you? A government inspector?"

"No, Monsieur," said Erik, reverting to French. "Just an interested party who doesn't want to see good workers get hurt."

"That's mighty rare for a Frenchman, especially one who hides behind a mask. What do you want out of this?"

"Nothing at all, I assure you. I just wanted to help."

Zahir turned and shouted, "Jamal! Jamal! Where are you?"

As Erik walked away he could hear the sounds of arguing coming from the construction site and fading into the distance as he made his way home. Before long a young boy of maybe ten years of age came running after him, "Monsieur! Monsieur! Wait! You with the eyes that can see into cement!"

Erik stopped walking and slowly turned to see a boy dressed in baggy pants and shirt and the ubiquitous sandals and faded red tarboosh* on his head, with a flowing robe open in front and billowing behind him as he ran. Erik held out his hands to keep the boy from crashing into him. "You know that if you open your eyes when you run, you will better be able to see where you are going! Now tell me, what is it?"

**O0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o**

**Haha! Erik is getting a reputation already! Read and Review, if you like!**

**TRANSLATIONS: **

**kore khar = baby donkey (meaning is similar to 'son of a bitch' in Farsi)**

**tarboosh = Algerian fez (hat)**


	8. Chapter 8

**Don't know what I'd do without my Beta, Filhound, who helps me stay on track and fill out my brief stories with color and history! Thank you so much. And thank you to all who have been reading this and not leaving reviews, but especially to those who have reviewed! Thank you!**

**Revenge Ch 8**

The boy looked up, surprised to see the object of his pursuit standing in front of him, "I am so sorry, Monsieur! But I am only a stupid boy!" and he panted trying to catch his breath. "My master wishes to see you. He sent me to find you and bring you back," the boy said, speaking in a sort of sing-song way.

"Your master, you say? You have a master? How did this come about?"

"It was my father. He ran up large debts to him and couldn't repay him, so my father sold me to him as a slave until the debt is paid."

"And just how long will that take?"

The boy hung his head, saying, "It will never be paid, Monsieur. My father, he is a bad man. He had a choice of either going to prison or joining the army for stealing and now he's gone into the army. My master gives us – my mother and me – just enough food to survive, but no more."

"Hmm… And just how much did your father owe to this man?"

"More than I will be able to pay for many, many years, I'm sad to say."

Erik looked at the boy who seemed above average in intelligence, "Hmm, do you know how much he owed to this man?"

"No, Monsieur, I cannot count that high. I have learned nothing much about numbers… but you must hurry or I will be beaten for dawdling!" and he tried to pull Erik along as if he were a burro.

"Hold on there! I cannot run. My leg has been injured and I am just beginning to walk. If you like you may go ahead and tell your master that I am on my way and will be there shortly."

"Thank you, Monsieur!" The boy put his head down and took off at a dead run for the construction site.

"Open your eyes!" Erik shouted with a chuckle.

The boy took a moment to glance over his shoulder and hollered back, "Oui. Monsieur!" and raced on ahead.

When Erik arrived at the construction site it was a melee of workers tearing down much of the structure while the foreman shouted curses and epithets at the men. To Erik's dismay, the boy was nowhere in sight. Presently a man dressed in European business attire came over toward Erik, bowing, "Salaam, Monsieur."

"Salaam alai-Kum," Erik responded with a bow. "I understand you wished to speak with me?"

"Yes, I did." He studied Erik for a minute before he gestured toward several stacked bags of cement. "Shall we sit? My name is Rashid Shalhoub and I am in charge of this undertaking."

"My name is Erik Mulheim and I am recently arrived from France. Say? Where is the boy who was sent to fetch me? He said something about having a master who worked here?"

"Yes? That would be one of my serving boys. His name is Ahmal. He should be around here somewhere … Ahmal!"

"Coming as fast as possible!" replied a voice not very far away. Suddenly the boy was there, bowing deeply and out of breath. "I am here at your service!" he wheezed out.

"I understand that he belongs to you due to his father's debts. I would like to know how much debt his father owes to you?"

"I am afraid, Monsieur, that that is none of your business. And I might ask you why it is that you wear a mask." He smirked, satisfied that he had forestalled Erik's questions about the boy. "Now, I have asked you here to… "

Erik recognized the tactic of trying to distract him from discussing the boy, but he had underestimated Erik's tenacity. "Your pardon, Monsieur, but I would like to make it my business and would like to settle this matter before we discuss the matter of the cement. How much does his father owe to you?"

"Hmph. More than he ought to! Three thousand francs. Does that satisfy you? Now about the cement work, …"

Erik was mentally calculating that this man had been using Ahmal for two years without pay, but paying for his minimal upkeep – very minimal from the looks of the boy – which probably cost him two hundred francs per year, while the boy was working off his father's debt at what otherwise would have been around three hundred francs per year. That would amount to one hundred francs per year. At that rate it would take him thirty years to pay off the debt! Erik was suddenly aware that Shalhoub was speaking, …"are prepared to pay you ten francs per month for your services."

Erik nearly choked. At the Populaire he had been demanding - and getting – twenty thousand francs per month. "Monsieur, make that one thousand franks and you have a deal." When Shalhoub was about to protest, Erik held up his hand, "And… I will work the first month for no pay at all, provided you turn over the serving boy to me."

"That's mighty cheeky for a man in a mask. Tell me why I should trust you with either the boy or what I am about to propose?" Shalhoub asked him defiantly. "You could be a wanted criminal from the continent, for all I know. Right now, all I know about you is that you saved the lives of at least two of my men and countless more who might have become trapped in a defective structure – whose construction was my responsibility and whose deaths would have likewise been my responsibility. And for this you have my profound gratitude. But I need to know more about you before entrusting my reputation with you."

Erik took a breath and thought for a minute. If he told Shalhoub the truth about himself and Shalhoub were superstitious, as many in this country were, he would be declared unclean and become an outcast and have to find another country in which to reside. But this man was well thought of enough to be working on the citadel. He was educated and presumably a man of the world. Perhaps it was worth taking the risk.

"Monsieur, I have been an architect for the Shah-in-Shah of Persia, as well as the Sultan of Turkey and have built magnificent edifices for each of them, to the extent that the Shah ordered me executed so I would not be able to duplicate or exceed such an undertaking for any other exalted leader. As a result, I have taken refuge here in your country."

Shalhoub thought about that for a moment, weighing the likelihood of the statement. "I have heard of the famous master magician and architect of the Shah-in-Shah and of his magnificent palace. Is that where you sustained the injury to your face?"

Erik sighed before answering. "I sustained many injuries while serving the Shah, but unfortunately the damage to my face was not among them. It is something I was born with and I wear the mask to protect my face as well as to protect people from having to look at it. It is quite hideous."

"And yet you seem to be a highly educated man. At which universities have you studied?"

Erik gave him a small smile and answered, "None. I am almost entirely self-taught, with some friendly advice here and there. I also speak twelve languages, although my Mandarin and Finnish are a little shaky."

Shalhoub smirked and asked Erik a question in Greek. Erik then gave a little grin and answered him in Berber, making Shalhoub laugh most heartily. "Very well! You will get your one thousand francs per month, but let me see your plans before you embark on any construction – at least for now."

Erik grinned, "Until you are sure you can trust me. Understood. I will have the first set of plans on your desk by morning."

"So soon? I would have thought you would need at least a week to come up with a plan!"

Erik shook his head, "I already have the plan in my head and have only to set it to paper for you to see it."

"Well then, until tomorrow, Salaam!" and he bowed, dismissing Erik. "Oh! One more thing. If you could see your way clear to pay half of what is owed me by Ahmal's father, you may have the boy as well."

Erik reached into his pocket and peeled off three 500-franc notes and gave them to Shalhoub. He then returned the bow and the salutation and turned to locate Ahmal and they made their way to the boy's home off a narrow alley in a poor part of town. "As of now you will be working for me. For wages. You won't always live here, Ahmal, I will build a place for us and some day you will build your own!"

"I don't understand at all! How did you get him to turn over the entire project to you? Are you a wizard? Is that why you wear the mask? Wait until Mother hears about this! I will tell her that I have met a wizard who can talk Shalhoub out of his construction foreman and who can see through cement! Allah be praised!"

"I am no wizard, Ahmal, it is only by a matter of education and experience that I was able to speak as I did with Shalhoub. Some day perhaps you will be able to speak and understand as I did. And I didn't talk him out of his foreman; the foreman is still needed, although I will have to watch him closely to be sure that he doesn't find another way to cheat Shalhoub."

When they arrived at the shanty that served as Ahmal's and his mother's home, Ahmal burst through the curtain that served as a door during the daytime. "Mother! Mother! I have brought a very important guest! Clean off the table and find a place for him to sit! I will make some tea!" and he grabbed a bucket and rushed out to the community well to get some fresh water.

The woman hurried in from the courtyard with her hair tied up in a scarf and pulling her skirt hems out from her belt where they had been tucked. She dried her arms and hands on her already wet skirt and bowed to Erik and welcomed him to their home. "I'm afraid it isn't much, but it is comfortable enough and it suits us. Please, have a seat," she said, offering him one of the two chairs at the table in the center of the single room dwelling. "My apologies for my appearance, sir. I was doing some laundry out in the courtyard. It pays the rent," she said, casting her eyes down to the floor.

Erik returned her bow, telling her, "There is no disgrace in working. My apologies for interrupting your endeavors. I only ask a few minutes of your time." As Erik sat stiffly, he took a moment to look around the room. Aside from the table, there was a small fireplace, a dry sink with a drain, a tall cupboard from which his mother was now taking some tea things to set on the table, a large bed with a few shelves above it on the wall, a few shelves in a bookcase that stood against the wall and a log ladder leading to the floor above.

"I don't mean to intrude, Madam, I only wanted to see the boy safely home and rest a bit before returning to my own home."

" 'Safely' you say? Has he been in trouble again? If he has, I promise you he will be punished! He has a very vivid imagination and it often gets him into trouble. Please allow me to apologize for whatever wrong he has done."

"Let me assure you that your son has done nothing wrong. In fact he has been very helpful and most informative and, with your permission, I would like to reward him…"

Just then Ahmal burst into the room with the water, "Mother! This man, he can see through cement! He is a wizard!" he said, pouring some water into a metal pot and placing it over the fire.

Erik began to chuckle as Ahmal's mother started to scold him for telling lies.

"No, Mother! They are not lies! Tell her, Monsieur! Tell her what you did!"

Erik smiled a bit sheepishly and glanced at Ahmal, "No lies, but a bit of an exaggeration, perhaps? I simply picked up a handful of the cement mixture they were using at the construction site and noted that it was too rich in sand and lacking in gravel. Monsieur Shalhoub determined that his foreman had been cutting corners by using more of the cheaper sand than gravel and pocketing the difference. It was just a simple observation on my part."

"But he is also a wizard, Mother! He convinced Shalhoub to fire his foreman and hire himself here instead, and at double the pay! Shalhoub would never pay Zahir so much."

"That is only because Zahir is a labor foreman, with little or no education. I am what is called an architect. I know how to design and build buildings. It's something anyone can learn if they apply themselves to study. Which brings me to one of the reasons for my visit: how much schooling have you had, Ahmal?"

The boy turned from pouring the tea and said sadly, "I have not had any. Father said I was too stupid for school."

"Nonsense! Anyone can learn things in school. Here, watch this…" Erik took two cubes of sugar and set them on the table. "How many cubes are there here?"

"That's easy! TWO!"

Then he cut each of them in half. "Now how much sugar is there?"

"Well… there are four pieces, but it's still the same amount of sugar… so I would guess it is still two cubes of sugar?"

"Correct! The amount hasn't changed, even though the form has! Excellent!"

His mother looked on and smiled hesitantly when Ahmal answered the question correctly, "I always knew he was a smart boy, but his father was very stubborn and insisted that he work."

"I can understand that, under the circumstances, but from now on you will be working for me and half of your work will be to go to school."

"Mother! This man is my new master! He bought me from Shalhoub!"

"Ahmal, another exaggeration? I simply paid the debt owed by his father so that Ahmal would be free to attend school."

"School!" Ahmal hung his head, "I don't want to have to sit in classes with little children who will laugh at me for being so stupid!"

"You won't. Either I myself or another teacher I know will come here every day for your lessons. And in two weeks you can begin accompanying your mother to the markets to help figure out how much things cost and how much she is spending, and most importantly, if anyone tries to cheat you in the process."

Ahmal's eyes grew large and his mouth opened into an 'O' and he looked from his mother to Erik.

"But remember, you are being paid a wage to do this. This is not a time to dawdle and fritter away the day. Tomorrow afternoon you will begin an apprenticeship with the cement workers."

"I already know something about that! I know that the correct mix for concrete is one to two to three!"

His mother's eyes grew wide in question as Erik smiled, "That is correct! See? You are a fast learner!"

Erik finished his tea and stiffly got up from the table, "And now I must be going or my friends will worry about where I am. Thank you so much for the tea and for your hospitality. And Ahmal, I will meet you here tomorrow after breakfast to begin your lessons." He reached into his pocket and pulled out two 5-franc coins and handed them to Ahmal, "Here is your first week's pay. You and your mother can go to the market before I come tomorrow to buy some food. "He turned to the boy's mother, "Are you up to date on your rent?"

"Well…" she looked down, wringing her hands, "Almost… "

He handed her a ten franc note. "Will this cover it? For a place like this I would think it would cover it for an entire year."

"Oh, Monsieur, I couldn't!"

"I insist." When she wouldn't take it, he placed it firmly in her hand and closed her hand around it. "There shall be no distracting elements to Ahmal's education. Within two weeks I hope to have completed restorations on a home of my own and will be needing a housekeeper. Would you consider working for me and my wife?"

Her eyes lit up at the prospect of a better job than doing laundry for mostly inappreciative Arab bachelors, but then she asked, "Well, that would depend on my hours and the distance to your home."

"Not to worry, Madam. There will be room enough for you and your son to live in my home with me."

He smiled when he saw her face light up with joy. "Oh! Monsieur! I would be most happy to be so employed!"

"Mother? Mother!" interrupted Ahmal, "What about H'Abibti*?"

Erik looked from one to the other, "H'Abibti?"

"The goat," replied Ahmal. "But that's Mother's business. I have nothing to do with the stupid goat."

"Oh? And why is that?" asked Erik.

"Because milking goats is women's work!" Ahmal replied defiantly.

"Hmm… I seem to recall milking a goat from time to time, and it wasn't considered women's work to be a goatherd?"

"Well, Mother does the milking…" he shuffled his feet for a moment, "H'Abibti, she won't let me milk her."

"Ah-h, well, I will see to it that there is room in the stable for the burro and for H'Abibti. Salaam!" and he left.

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POV Erik

I suppose I shouldn't have been so capricious as to tell Monsieur Shalhoub that I would have the plans ready by morning! It's true that I had all the plans in my head, but I had wanted to spend some time with Christine and plan our wedding. On my walk one day I had spotted a vacant home that was up for sale and went in to look around. It was quite simple, but very nice, with a large courtyard and garden and an airy floor plan. We haggled a bit and I bought it for us but wanted to make a few changes before Christine saw it. Maybe after I presented my plans to Shalhoub he would want to make some changes and I could have some time to work on the house – our house.

Our house! What a wondrous concept! I was to have a house and to share it with my Christine! And soon Ahmal and his mother could join us! And we would have our horses, a burro and a goat! Maybe I should get some chickens too? Haha! We were becoming a real family! And it would be our house, our piece of the earth, our place to retire to at the end of the day. Our place to have children and raise a family! I already knew what I wanted it to look like and couldn't wait to begin working on it.

It was about three A. M. when I felt a soft hand on my shoulder and caught a whiff of Christine's fragrance.

"Erik?"

"Yes, my love…" and I reached out to encircle her waist with my arm before kissing her hand.

"How much longer will you be working on this? You need your sleep. You are still not fully healed. "

"Not much longer. Just a few final touches and I'll be in." She moved to stand behind me and I could feel the warmth of her body through my shirt as she wrapped her arms around my neck, slowly sliding her hands down my chest. I needed her warmth and understanding. I needed to feel her beside me. "Mmm… maybe this can wait until morning," I said pulling her arms closer in order to kiss them.

I put the plans into a portfolio and blew out the lanterns and followed Christine to the bedroom.

She turned around and undid my shirt enough that she could slip it over my head and began running her delicate fingers over my chest, enticingly toying with the hairs she found there and then with my nipples. I moaned involuntarily , "I thought you said… I needed rest?"

"That's what this is: resting your eyes and your brain from all those calculations and sight lines… thinking about something entirely different." She kissed me lightly and I pulled her closer so I could pull her sleep dress off and gaze at her beautiful, sensuous form.

"How can this be? How can..?" I began, but she placed her finger across my lips.

"No more words, no more talk about your appearance," and she lifted my mask off and set it on the bedside table. "You are beautiful and I won't have anyone trying to tell me otherwise, not even you!"

"Then you had better kiss me to keep me from saying any more about it!"

"I thought you'd never ask!" And she kissed me, laying me back onto the bed and deftly removing my sleep pants.

I couldn't help but giggle, "Wanton woman!"

She got a look of false indignation but couldn't hold it and began to giggle and slapped my cheek playfully, "How dare you describe me in such a manner sir, I am of a mind to..."

I grinned and raised an eyebrow, "to do what Christine?"

Christine smiled, "Prove to you just how wanton that I am capable of acting towards you fine sir."

I laughed, "Why don't you show me then? I am at your complete disposal, Mademoiselle."

She reached to me and pulled my face to hers placing her perfect lips on my imperfect ones with a kiss that showed me just how deeply and truly she loved me. I wrapped my arms around her and drew her in so that we were as one person, one entity emanating so much love. Soon she began to move against me, grinding her hips into my core. I couldn't catch my breath. I was panting as she suddenly sat up and got a mischievous look on her face. She reached for my arms and spread them out across the bed, then reached down and spread my legs apart. "Don't move!" she commanded with a frown and a giggle. "It will go worse for you if you dare to move!" She commenced to torture me with kisses and bites and sucking in some of my most sensitive or ticklish spots. I tried hard not to wiggle, for each time I did she would bite me. I was going crazy with longing for her to take me in hand and finish this! I don't know where she'd learned this, she was like a wild woman and it was driving me over the edge. I was engorged and aching for release and when I couldn't take it any longer I grabbed her by the arms and rolled over on top of her. She giggled and kissed me before wrapping her legs around me and pulling herself in to give me satisfaction at last!

"Oh, Christine! You little minx!" I declared and she laughed.

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Less than a month after Raoul had returned from America, he and his father and his brother, Philippe, were entertaining some friends with an evening of whist and cigars in their townhouse in Paris. As unusual as it was, Raoul was winning against his friend, the Vicomte de Villars. Once again, Philippe was teasing Raoul about his poor choice in women and Christine's and Erik's disappearance.

"Little Brother, you must learn to select women of breeding and passive demeanor, women who will not run off at the drop of a hat when swayed by another's soft words and enticing promises!"

"I am not looking for a concubine, like you have, Dear Philippe! I am looking for a life-long companion, someone who can stimulate me, someone with whom I can share a lifetime of pleasures!"

"I'm afraid you will never find a woman who can sufficiently _stimulate_ you," quipped Philippe, "to produce progeny for the family!"

"Raoul stood up so quickly he upset his chair, "How DARE you! You know nothing of my needs and war injuries, and what's more, it is none of your business!"

"Come, come, boys. Fight fair… There! I believe Villars and I have won yet another hand!" he said as he discarded his final card.

"What? That's impossible!" Raoul said scanning the cards on the table.

His mother, who had been sitting on the sofa reading a book, laughed, "It's what comes of keeping your attention on what's at hand, dear son."

Suddenly there came an insistent pounding at the front door.

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**Read and review, if you like!**

**Translation: **

**H'Abibti – (Arabic) means 'beloved'**


	9. Chapter 9

**A bit of a change of pace for you, but I still don't own Erik, Christine, or any other of ALW's characters, nor Nadir. And huge thanks to Filhound for all her help sorting out some of my ramblings!**

**Revenge Chapter 9**

Never let it be said that Reynard de Ville was not an opportunist, though some might go so far as to call him a con man. He had sold his only daughter (well, with women as they were, could he really be sure she was _his_ daughter?) to a flophouse not too far from the fancy opera house in Paris. She was only 12, but she would get a good 'education' from the girls there. With that money and what was left of his wife's inheritance he was able to buy his way into the French Legion in Africa with the rank of colonel. It wasn't a bad life. He was able to run a little scam here and there to augment his meager salary. Kella had been a beautiful woman and her daughter was looking like she would be as well. But lugging a child around with him after the death of his wife was not his idea of fun. He habitually brought her along when he went to visit the local House of Delights and would tell her to sit and wait for him to come back out. She w0ould sit there and try not to look at all the men who entered and left the establishment during the night, some of them even approaching her, to her fright and disgust. She hated the looks of lust and hunger in the men's eyes and the smell of alcohol on their breath. One night he had been so distracted by the woman he had encountered there, and not a little bit inebriated, that it had completely slipped his mind that his daughter had been waiting for him. The very next day when he returned to take her home, he spoke with the Madame about the girl. He had no idea of how to raise a daughter of this age, so he asked the Madame to take her under her wing, more or less permanently, in exchange for a small consideration from the Madame for her future services, essentially selling the girl to the Madame. The girl was comely and promised to be a great attraction for the house, and the Madame agreed.

Once his daughter was out of his hands he took the opportunity to seek his fortune by joining the army.

He gained access to his late wife's funds – which had been intended to be as a dowry for their daughter - and added them to his own and approached the recruiting officer for the _Armée d'Afrique_to offer his services as a gentleman and a senior officer. The corps had happened to be in need of competent officers and a gentleman of de Ville's seeming standing would fit in quite nicely in the new brigades that were forming – no questions asked. Especially attractive was his promise to raise a small corps of his own so that he might enter at the rank of a colonel.

Upon arriving in Africa, de Ville was dismayed to see that the isolation of his new post would severely limit his extra-curricular activities. But one day, while scoping out the busy souk*, he accidentally bumped into a very lovely, and very young, woman. He struck up a brief conversation, despite her chauffeur trying to separate them. Innocent as she was, she was impressed with his uniform and the fact that he was French and handsome and a high ranking officer. When he invited her to a dance on the base, her father was adamantly opposed. He reminded her of her duties as the daughter of a Berber chieftain, of her long line of ancestors who had fought for and dominated this part of the world for hundreds of years. But she convinced him that he was being stodgy and old-fashioned and that many other men and ladies would be present and that he was free to accompany her as her chaperone.

During a break in the music de Ville invited her outside for some fresh air. Her idea of 'fresh air' varied widely from his and she returned to the dance somewhat disheveled and requesting of her father to take her home. When she became ill a few weeks later and it was found that she was with child, they were both banished , her to the slums of Birkhadem where she managed to eke out a living as a lowly washer woman and him to Cochinchina*, with a demotion.

But a resourceful man like him could always find profitable distractions, especially after a few years to become ensconced in the gambling dens of Saigon. Unfortunately for him, he encountered a beautiful woman who appeared to be of mixed descent and took her to a secluded spot to have his way with her. It wasn't until two days later that he discovered that she was the daughter of his commanding officer. This time his title and background, questionable as it may have been, saved him from the guillotine. He was demoted to the rank of lieutenant and sent back to Algeria in a punishment brigade known as the 'Battalion of Light of Africa'. He had begged to be sent anywhere else as he was fairly certain that the Berber chieftain's daughter and grandson were living nearby and he didn't want to have to face a Berber chieftain bent on revenge.

But not all the news was dire here for he had received an invitation to a fairly new brothel called _La Babineau Maison de Felicite_. He couldn't wait to sample the local color of the town of Birkhadem, just south of Algiers.

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The docks at Algiers were bustling with activity, with ships being loaded with trade goods, excursion boats boarding wealthy European passengers, small craft with men selling fruit and seafood to passengers on the ships or transferring goods from the docks to other smaller ports along the seashore. Men with donkeys laden with all sorts of goods were heading inland to deliver products shipped from Europe or even from England and the eastern Mediterranean. When the soldiers disembarked a cluster of boys quickly surrounded them asking where they needed to go and offering to act as guides. For those wanting to visit the Babineau House, the boy guiding them tried in vain to get them to hire burros for the trip, "Messieurs, the trip is long and the way is very hilly! You will be worn out by the time you arrive!"

But the soldiers told him, "We are well accustomed to hard labor and a walk of four miles will be a fine stretch of the legs after the cramped quarters of the ship!"

And so they headed south, through the heart of Algiers, where their guide strongly suggested they buy something to eat and drink to refresh themselves along the way. At one such booth a woman who was bargaining for fruit looked up aghast and dropped the melon she was buying on the ground. "Mother?" asked the boy accompanying her. "What is wrong?"

Reynard turned at the question and looked directly into the face of his wife. "Fatima!"

The boy, Ahmal, picked up the melon, "What is wrong, Mother? Who is this man? Is he bothering you? Shall I get help?"

"No, Ahmal. This man is not bothering me." She quickly paid for the melon without even bargaining for it and pulled Ahmal to another vendor away from the soldiers.

But Reynard followed, calling her back, "Fatima! Wait!" He caught her by the arm and spun her around.

At that Ahmal rushed in and started pounding him with his fists, "You leave her alone! Go away! Leave my mother alone!"

Reynard took a step back and looked from her to the boy, stunned, "Your mother? How old are you, boy?"

"Ten, I think. Why? What does that matter to you?" Ahmal paused long enough to finally get a good look at Reynard before spitting at him. "You! You are a worthless dog! You leave us alone! We don't need you anymore!" He took his mother by the arm, telling her, "Come, Mother. I will return and buy whatever else it is we need after these men are gone."

Two of the other soldiers gradually caught up to him and handed him a cigarette, "Someone you know?"

He took the smoke and lit it, taking a deep drag, "Yeah. My son."

"Your son, you say? And you let him speak to you like that? I would have decked him if he were my son."

"Yeah, well, I guess I deserved it." He turned and resumed following their guide.

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Things weren't going much better for Raoul in Paris.

After the butler left to answer the door, Philippe turned to Raoul, "Another one of your friends, Raoul? I believe they come here because of the fine liquor we serve. Perhaps we should stock some cheaper vintages."

Their butler reappeared, bowing slightly. "Excuse me, Messieurs, but you are wanted at the front door, Monsieur Raoul."

"Ooh-h! That's got to be his secret paramour!" quipped Philippe.

"It is a messenger from the Admiralty, monsieur," the butler replied dryly.

Raoul got up from the table and headed toward the entry door, "What the devil?"

A man in the uniform of the French Navy handed Raoul an official looking envelope.

"What's this about? What brings you out in the middle of the night?" asked Raoul jokingly.

"I'm sorry , sir, but it is an official summons, recalling you to active duty."

"It's WHAT?" Raoul snatched the envelope and pulled out the message inside, reading it, "It says here I am to Report to the S.S. Versailles, berthed at Marseilles, by next Monday!" He looked up at the messenger, "That's only three days!" Turning on his heel he strode into the parlor, "Father? What do you make of this?"

His father slowly looked up from the game tally pad, "Oh, you shouldn't have any trouble getting there in time if you take the train."

"But can't you do something to get me a clerical position? I don't think it would suit me to actually go into battle and be injured."

"Oh, dear little brother, just think how the girls will swoon around you when you leave - and when you return!" teased Philippe.

Raoul began to dream of being swarmed by girls… "No! That's not why I signed up! Well, maybe it is, but…"

"Look at it as an opportunity to rid your head of that Phantom character and that silly girl!" his father chimed in.

Raoul looked up at his father with the sudden realization that this was partly his father's doing. "You! You did this?"

"Well, the way you have been malingering we had to do something to get you interested in life once more."

Raoul was livid with disbelief, "By sending me to WAR? What kind of logic is that?"

"Oh, don't be so melodramatic, it's not a real war, just a little uprising of the natives."

His mother looked up from her book, "Perhaps you will meet someone who piques your interest?"

He shot his mother a withering look, "Oh, _please!_"

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POV Erik

For two months I designed and drew up plans for both the basilica and my new home. For the basilica, I designed a three-story portico loggia comprised of a series of arches looking out over the countryside, the arches of each row one-third the size of the ones below, and with every third pillar soundly anchored to the main pillars below. On the third level the porticoes were smaller yet and were perched atop a solid frieze, braced with strong timbers of cedar and iron bars. Overall, it made the basilica look twice as massive as it was while still looking as delicate as a piece of Austrian pastry.

The work was going very well at the construction site, now that Zahir was under control and seemed to be behaving. He was even beginning to show some pride in the progress of the restoration.

For my home I designed a two-story portico loggia that covered three of the four sides of the house. For the roof I designed a walled open space with several broad umbrellas to shield us from the sun, that could be moved from place to place as needed. The main floor would be for an entrance, for cooking and for storage. On this level would be quarters for Ahmal and his mother. The second and third floors would be for myself and Christine, with accommodations for any guests we might have. Four bedrooms were arranged on the third floor, along with three bathrooms. This floor would be for the family. There would also be a bathroom on the first and second floors.

I worked feverishly – and saw to it that those I had hired did as well – to finish the house in time for the wedding. While the exterior stucco remained white, I had hired artisans to paint grape vines along just under the eaves. I planned on planting grapes, but grape vines took years to mature to the point where they would encircle the house. The entry walkway was lined with fragrant lavender and potted hyacinths and shaded with swaying date and other native palms. Inside, the three-story house was painted with soft, cooling colors: seafoam green, celery and a soft pink, a cheery lemony yellow, and peach. Decorative carpets lined the floors and decorated the walls. The borders of the courtyard were filled with roses and other exotic species, protected by a masonry wall and spraying fountains.

One evening, when I had returned late from working on the house, I found Christine clipping a few flowers from the garden. I silently watched her for a few minutes before whispering to her, "Good evening, my love!"

She turned abruptly, "Erik!" she giggled. "Why must you always startle me?" The setting sun caught the surprised look on her face giving her such an innocent appearance, so sweet and yet alluring. I gave her a gentle kiss and led her to the cement bench we had out there and took the flowers from her hand and laid them beside her as she sat.

Still holding her other hand in mine, I told her, "Because I love the way you look when I do it! Christine, I didn't do this correctly the first time. We were in such a confused rush and I want to do this in a way that you will know my heart for certain."

"Erik, you…"

"Sh-h. You are the world to me, Christine, the sun , the moon, the stars, the flowers – everything that's beautiful and graceful and wonderful, that's what you are to me. I couldn't ever live without you any more than I could live without air." By now I had gotten down on one knee and Christine had begun to tear up, trying in vain to keep her cheeks wiped dry. "Christine, I will try to make you feel safe and happy and fulfilled until the day I die, if you let me. Would you do me the honor of being my wife?" At this I pulled a package from my pocket and unwrapped a simple ring with a diamond set off with two onyx chips embedded in the gold of the band and reached to place it on her finger.

She took off the ring Nadir had bought for me to give her in Marseilles and put it in her pocket. "Yes, of course I will love you, and care for you and help you in all your endeavors in whatever way I can. I love you, Erik!" She took off my mask, as she often did now, before kissing me and allowed me to slide the new ring onto her finger.

"I love you so much!" I took her in my arms and just held her, savoring the closeness of the moment.

She held her hand out to look at her ring, then suddenly took hold of my hand where I wore my onyx ring and studied it, noting the obvious places where two chips had been removed from the large stone before looking at me with surprise, "These are chips from your ring, aren't they?"

I smiled at her lovingly, "Guilty as charged. They are, both rings, made of the same stone."

She threw her arms around me, "Oh, Erik! You are so thoughtful, so romantic! What did I ever do to deserve such a wonderful man as you?" 

"You need do nothing to gain my love. Just being you overwhelms me and inspires me to devise tokens of my love with which to adorn you."

As our lips drew closer, she whispered, "I do so love you!" before her lips met with mine in a warm and loving kiss.

As we entered the house, I told her, "I have been speaking with one of the priests from the basilica who can marry us in three days. Is that too soon? He has agreed to do it in exchange for some little extras that I have devised for the building restoration."

"Oh, Erik! Three days would be wonderful. After all, I have nobody that will be coming from a great distance, although I will miss having Meg and her mother here, but their presence would alert Raoul to our location and it is not worth the risk," she said. Coming into the bedroom, she changed into her night dress and sat on the bed, waiting for me.

I changed into my sleep pants and joined her in bed, considering who we might invite on such short notice. Once again our difficulties with Raoul seemed to interfere with Christine's happiness, for had it not been for my entanglement with the Vicomte, she would have been free to invite anyone she wanted from Paris. In fact, we wouldn't even be here, in exile, but for my past deeds.

"I am so sorry that my hideous past has resurfaced to interfere with what might have been a joyous reunion for you and your foster family. Perhaps we can devise a way to return to Paris for a visit at a later date?"

"Oh, Erik, it isn't only any fault of yours; I am equally to blame for my indecisiveness with him and my attraction to his dashing appearance. I foolishly fell for his show of gallantry and couldn't know my own heart. I am so sorry that my immaturity caused you so much anguish. But as of now it is neither of our faults, but Raoul's alone for not accepting my final decision."

"Well, in any event, he has come unhinged and has become dangerous as a jilted suitor, even as he refuses to accept that it is over between the two of you and that he no longer has a hold on you or on your affections." I reached out and cupped her cheek, tracing her mouth with my thumb. "I know that if the roles were reversed, I would probably do the same."

"Perhaps. But we can worry about those things tomorrow. Right now it is more important that you need to get some sleep so you can work tomorrow."

I reached for my pocket watch on the night table, "Too late. In two hours it will be time to prepare for work."

"That's time enough for a nice long nap! Good night, my soon-to-be husband!" She snuggled down under the covers, curling up next to me and in mere moments her mumblings of "I love you, Erik" had turned to a steady, deep breathing of slumber.

I sighed and closed my eyes, thinking about the project tomorrow, and the changes I was making to the house, the people I had hired to paint some of the rooms, those I had hired to build the stable, those I had hired to install the new indoor plumbing that the old house needed… But what I really wanted was something higher up in the mountains, where it would snow in the winter and where I could have ample pasture for the horses. And privacy.

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The road to the brothel, though only a little over four miles from the docks on a map, was significantly longer in actuality because it wound its way around or through smaller souks and mosques, and up and down hills. It wasn't long before the soldiers began quarreling with their guide over the route he was taking.

"Believe me, Messieurs, this is the shortest route. I tried to get you to hire some burros because it was clear that you were not accustomed to this terrain and I was afraid it would be too much for sailors like yourselves."

"Yeah? Well I would have felt downright silly riding on a burrow," complained one of the men."

But another man chimed in, "Well, it would have been better than arriving in need of a day's rest!"

"Hah!" replied a third, "One look at those sweeties and I'll have enough energy to fight Hercules!"

Finally arriving at the brothel, the soldiers waited in the entry parlor for the girls to come out and be chosen by the men. Babette had seen that there were six men, so she sent out five girls and told them that they were not to go with the tall man with the graying blonde hair. She wanted him to go with her most experienced girl, Marta. As each girl came out into the parlor, Reynard tried to get her to come with him, but they all chose someone else. When the fifth girl left with the final man but him, the man remarked, "Sorry Ray, guess it's just not your day!"

"Yeah," he groused under his breath. Then Babette sent out her best girl. "Ooh, yeah! Saving the best for last, are ye?" Babette watched through hidden crevasses and windows, watched this man who was supposedly her father make sloppy love to her most talented girl.

As she watched, her mind drifted. _She led him to a private room and danced before him, twirling before him in her layers of silk scarves, tantalizing him until he was fully aroused when she pulled out her janbiya* knife and slashed him across the front of his drawers. He yowled in pain, falling to his knees. "You sonofabitch! What have you done? You've ruined me!"_

_She pulled off her veils to allow him to get a good look at her, "You! You who ruined my mother and left her to die! You, who dragged me along on your visits to whorehouse after whorehouse, making me wait for you while men devoured me with their eyes as they fondled their moistening crotches! You who sold me – your own flesh and blood – to a brothel! You deserve much worse! She turned to walk out of the room but he grabbed her by the arm and pulled her down and was about to choke her, but something was stopping him._ _A look in her eyes. Her eyes! He'd seen those eyes before, years ago…_

"_No! It can't be! Not twice in the same day!"_

"_Hello… 'Father'," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "You have raised a very successful daughter! Just see what all your loving attention has accomplished for her! You who use women like dishrags – use them to your fill and then discard them when you are faced with responsibility. How many others have there been besides my mother? Do you know how long I have waited for this? Planned for this? Dreamed of this?"_

_Reynard could do nothing but sit on the floor and try to stanch the flow of blood coming from his crotch. Finally he got up his courage and yelled for help while she sat in an easy chair and laughed at him. _

Her arm slipped off the arm of the chair where she was seated and she pitched sideways, almost falling out of the chair. She looked around the room, stunned, then through the peep-hole to Marta's room but it was empty. She straightened her dress and smoothed her hair before going to the parlor. There were other clients entering from the street but no sign of the sailors.

Marta stepped over to her, "Madame, the sailors have left and left you a message. They thanked you for your hospitality and promised to return in a few days, as they will be in Algiers for a week. And they left you this…" and she placed a 20-franc gold 'Louie' in Babette's hand.

"Only that? That's hardly enough for all of us!" declared one of the girls.

"Not to worry, Francine, we will extract our pound of flesh from them. You'll see."

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During the crossing from Marseilles to Mers El Kebir, for want of anything else to pass the time, some of the soldiers began to fraternize with the ship's crew, playing cards, exchanging stories. It was well known that sailors were a superstitious lot, so when talk of ghosts and hauntings aboard the ship began to circulate, they were mostly chalked up to just that – superstition. But there was one story that seemed somehow … different. It was the story of a dead man coming to life. A dead soldier being shipped to Algiers in a coffin, who sat up and spoke to the crewman. "His eyes were orange set deep in his skull and half of his face had been blown away!" the crewman told them in a hushed voice. "Then he turned and looked right at me and told me to forget what I'd seen and to never speak of it to anyone!"

"What did you do?" asked one of the soldiers, rapt by the story.

"I ran, and screamed! Ran all the way to my quarters! And he laughed, like a maniac he did! I could hear him all the way to my berth! That awful, insane laugh." The sailor's eyes looked back toward the hold, as if he could still see and hear the image of the spectre.

"Bah! You're always coming up with scary stories, tryin' t' spook the passengers with 'em!" piped up one of the crew who then looked at Raoul, Don't pay him no mind, monsieur. He's just buggerin' ye!"

"Maybe so, but this one were for real! I swear it were!"

Raoul began to study the crewman who had gotten quite pale and begun to shake. "What was the name of this soldier?"

"Oh! I don't remember none o' that… Miller? Mullen? Sounded Prussian. I do remember that I was wondering why a Prussian were wearing a French uniform, and being buried in Africa!"

Raoul scooted his chair closer to the crewman, "Do you remember where he was disembarked?"

The crewman studied Raoul for a moment, "You believe me, doncha? You believe the story! About time somebody did, I'll give ye that! Hmph! Only one place they could've got him off – Algiers. But I'll tell ya, he were dead alright! Was there when they opened the coffin for inspection. Whew! The stench coulda knocked you over!"

Raoul squinted his eyes in response, then looked away, deep in thought.

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Read and Review, if you like!

**Translation: **

**Cochinchina = French Indo China/ Vietnam**

**Janbiya= a knife with a short curved blade and handle sometimes made of Rhino horn or ivory. Original source in Yemen**


	10. Chapter 10

**As always, a huge THANK YOU to my Beta, Filhound, who keeps me accurate nand sensible to the period. Of course, I own nothing. Darn.**

**Revenge Chapter 10**

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In the months since Erik had arrived in Algeria, he had been working outdoors, whether at the basilica construction site, or at his new home where he often went without his mask, preparing it for Christine. As a result he had acquired a healthy tan and his natural dark brown hair had become bleached to almost blonde, giving him a very healthy look and doing even more to disguise his former appearance. He had even needed to have his new flesh mask tinted to match his darkening complexion. When he arrived at the bordello to collect Christine, he was dressed in a white suit worked with gold embroidery and a white keffiyeh with a golden double agal headdress, Babette at first didn't even recognize him as the pallid, somberly dressed Phantom from Paris, until his lopsided grin gave him away. "Oh, Monsieur!" and she paused to catch her breath before turning to get Christine. When she returned, it was Erik who had to catch his breath. She was so beautiful, it took his breath away and he could do nothing but stand and stare for a full minute. She was dressed in white silk windings that wound over her head and formed a modest veil before trailing down her back, laced with gold and silver threads, with a gold belt that hung tantalizingly from her hips. Her hair was done up with gold pins with elaborate filigree on the ends. Nadir, ever the horseman, had managed to find an appropriate partner for Cesár (whom he had bought through a third party and had had shipped here) and had given the white mare the name of Cleopatra. Erik's approach was heralded by the tinkling of tiny bells attached to the bridles of the horses, both of which were now draped in harnesses and saddles adorned and worked in gold. Once Christine was mounted they made their way to the basilica at the head of an impromptu procession consisting of Nadir and Babette and many other well-wishers and friends.

As they neared the church, Christine gasped to see that the roadway was strewn with palm branches and rose petals. _Where had he gotten all the roses? _she wondered. Erik had been trying to remain aloof, but when he risked a glance at her face and saw her reaction, his heart swelled with joy and he melted with tears coming to his eyes to match those in Christine's.

He leaned toward her and whispered , "All for you, my love!"

She tried to hide her blush, but when she saw that he had noticed, it only increased in intensity and he grinned with satisfaction. Once inside the church they waited for those in the procession to enter, many of them for the first time since the restoration. There were many 'Oohs' and 'Ahs' as the people pointed out some of the features to each other, many remarking on the beauty of the restoration and the skill of the artisans. But he had eyes for no-one but Christine. She seemed to sparkle and to float in her dress, like something from another world, from heaven if you believed in the concept. When everyone was settled, he handed his headdress to Nadir and, taking her hand in his, led her up to the altar.

The ceremony was brief, or seemed to be, because Erik could remember none of it and they were soon surrounded with well-wishers from among the townspeople and Erik's workers. Even some of Babette's girls were there to wish the couple "God speed". By the time they exited the church, several impromptu bands had been assembled in the square and were competing with each other for the attention of the attendees. Food vendors, seeing an opportunity to make some money, had set up booths around the basilica square. People were dancing and singing and eating as if it were a national holiday.

At one point Christine took a moment to look at the ring Erik had now given her, to find that this one also had two onyx chips in it and that Erik's ring now had four chips out of it.

"Erik? Why? What does this mean?"

He gathered himself and taking a breath and releasing it, said, "There are four holes in my ring and four chips in your rings. Until today my life has been a series of four gaping, devastating, miserable holes – my mother, the gypsies, Persia and Raoul. You and your love are what fills them all and completes me, my love." He took both her hands in his and brought them to his mouth to kiss them. When he looked down at her he had tears in his eyes.

"Oh, Erik! I will always complete you and fulfill you. I will always love you!" She reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck and drew him down so she could kiss him, softly, lovingly, tenderly.

As much as Erik felt like he should stay and celebrate, he was equally desirous of taking his bride to their new home, so after thanking as many people as he could, and being coerced to join in a few of the dances, he and Christine departed. It was only a five-minute ride to Erik's home where he stabled the horses before carrying Christine into the house. He lit some candles as he led her from room to room, showing her the wonders he had designed. There were fragrant cedar and oaken doors, stained glass windows that overlooked the courtyard, and a garden of recently shorn roses. Christine grinned at Erik when she saw that, recalling all the rose petals strewn across the paving stones.

"Even the roses do obeisance to your beauty, my love," he told her with a shy grin.

She embraced him like he was life itself and she dared not let go. "Oh, Erik! I am so overwhelmed, by all of this, by everything: by the rings, by the house, by the ceremony… but most of all by you!"

He drew back a bit to kiss her before sweeping her up into his arms and carrying her to their suite on the third floor, "This has all been but the prelude to the first act of our long lives, my love, my dearest, my amazingly wonderful _wife_." Depositing her near the bed, he turned and opened two large doors she had thought might lead to a closet to reveal a bathing chamber replete with tiled walls and floor and an oversized footed tub filled with steamy, fragrant bubbling water.

She watched him as he removed his keffiyeh and agal and laid them on the side table. She went to him and gently removed his mask and set it on the table. Then his white jacket and hung it in his closet. When she returned he removed her golden belt before beginning to unwind her silk garment. They each kept their eyes on the other's, smiling slightly, each wondering what would come next. She knelt down and removed his shoes. He reached over and removed the pins from her hair, allowing it to cascade over her shoulders. She reached around him to remove his belt. He removed her silken undergarment. She removed his silken shirt, slowly unbuttoning it. One. Button. At. A. Time, and he thrilled and sucked in his breath each time she would start on the next button. He removed her camisole and gasped at the sight of her luscious breasts which had perked up at the sensation of the fabric caressing her nipples. She removed his trousers. He removed her pantaloons, breathing in the scent that was her. She removed his drawers, careful not to scrape his impressive erection with her nails. He climbed into the tub before helping her into it and they finally embraced, feeling one another's skin sliding over their own with the smoothness of the sudsy water.

He looked deep into her eyes and in a smouldering voice said, "I love you, my wife!" and he kissed her long and lovingly. She pulled away briefly to straddle his lap, then looked into his eyes and in a husky, earthy voice said, "I love you, my husband!", and this time when they kissed, they didn't stop for anything but the occasional need to breathe. Gently, they washed each other with the fragrant oils and soaps that had been arrayed on a nearby table and when the water began to cool, Erik stood and reached for a soft Turkish cloth wrap and wound it around her as he lifted her from the tub, then stepped out of the tub and wrapped himself in another and they both snuggled into the bed and spent the rest of the night making sweet gentle love to each other – over and over again.

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At the French barracks at Mers El Kebir, although the different corps were housed separately, the officers all took their meals in the same building. Scuttlebutt being what it was, Raoul soon heard of the new brothel a few miles south of Algiers and found that one of the soldiers in the _Battalion of Light Infantry _corps knew the specifics of the location. Raoul wondered now whether this could be the same Madame Babineau whose establishment he had visited in Paris? And if it was, whether she had any possible connection to Erik. It was worth a try. To his dismay he learned that the men he needed to speak with had already left for Algiers two days prior to his arrival, and it was a full day's sail to get there from Mers El Kebir. He'd have to act fast to obtain a pass to visit Algiers if he was to meet up with that particular group of sailors who knew where to find this establishment. He needn't have worried. Babette had tipped several of the guide boys to snag men arriving at Algiers on leave and bring them to Birkhadem.

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After several days of wedded bliss, as they say, Erik decided it was time to increase the size of their household. "I will return within an hour with our new family additions. You can prepare their rooms and I leave it to you to devise a small classroom off to one side of the kitchen," he added with a devious smile. "I will be needing both of the horses, so please don't venture beyond the compound? If you need assistance with anything, Nadir has occupied the compound next door."

"But Erik, I thought we were going to explore the town?"

"Soon, my love. But first I must take care of this business."

Christine was about to plead with him, but he put his finger over her lips, telling her, "This is something I have promised and I must keep my promise. Don't look so worried! It's a good thing! You'll see." And he leaned down from Cesár's back and kissed her, then waved as he rode Cesár out the gate, trailing Cleopatra behind him.

Christine wandered back into the kitchen, wondering what this mission of Erik's was and why he was now in need of a small classroom – and for how many pupils? How many exactly was 'small'? She made some tea for herself and sat down with some paper and a pencil and sketched the kitchen. There was an area next to the stove where she had placed a small table and chairs where they would sit and enjoy their morning coffee and croissants and sometimes fruit, like peaches that were now in season. But they could just as well do that at the larger kitchen table, or even in the upstairs dining room. Erik had proudly shown her the dumbwaiter he'd had installed in the home for carrying meals from the kitchen to their dining room on the second floor. It would be an easy matter to hoist their coffee-and that way. Yes, she decided that that corner would be perfect for a small classroom. She next dragged a small bookcase from the pantry (Erik didn't have _that_ many cooking books!) and set it against the wall opposite the stove. This would leave room for an easel which could possibly hold a small chalkboard like one she had seen advertising prices at one of the cafés they had passed on their way here.

But who, she wondered, was he going to be teaching? And what were the lessons to be about? Certainly not music. That he would teach upstairs in their suite where the acoustics were better and the climate better suited to musical instrument preservation.

When she had done all she could in arranging a classroom, she wandered out into the flower garden and the courtyard, examining the roses just beginning to open their new buds that replaced the blooms he had cut for their wedding. She smiled, remembering the roadway leading to the church with all the rose petals strewn over it. _Such a sacrifice_, she thought, _those lovely flowers had made, just so Erik could please her. He was so very sweet, often going out of his way to do special things for her._

A small 'squeak!' pulled her out of her reverie and made her jump. "What!" and she looked around for the source of the sound, more than half fearful of what it could be…'Squeak!' It came again, just off to her left. She retrieved the broom from the kitchen and returned to find some leaves twitching near the wall. She poked at the spot and heard a loud 'Squeak!' followed by a tiny golden brown paw taking a swipe at the broom, then a second paw. Soon a darkish tawny-golden kitten emerged, swatting at the broom! She continued to 'play' with the kitten, drawing it closer and closer to herself until she could reach down and get hold of it. The furry little one squeaked and meowed so loudly you'd have thought she was being tortured. "Well, now. And where did you come from, Little One?" asked Christine gently. The kitten looked at her with inquisitive amber eyes, with lighter fur around those eyes and around her nose, giving her a spectacled appearance, and with her paws flailing with tiny claws extended. Christine began stroking her gently while purring to the kitten, eventually cradling her in her arms, and soon the kitten too was purring and snuggling down in this soft, sweet-smelling nest she'd found. By the time Erik returned, the kitten had been fed some left-over chicken soup and was asleep in the bib of her apron. When Christine heard voices, she hurried out to the courtyard to greet Erik.

But what she saw stunned her, for not only was Erik there, but another woman, a donkey, a young boy, boxes and stacks of household goods, a goat… and he and the boy were in the process of emptying more than a dozen burlap sacks containing chickens! She let out a laugh, shaking her head, "Erik! What is all this? What is going on? Who are these people?"

"Christine, this is Fatima, (she curtsied) our new cook and kitchen helper and whatever else you need for her to do, and this is her son, Ahmal (at this the boy bowed deeply), who works for me and is learning about the construction business and is going to school."

"Fatima, Ahmal, let me present my loving and beautiful wife, Christine Daae Mulheim."

"Well!" Christine smiled and caught her breath, "So I suppose you are the people who will be occupying the spare rooms off of the kitchen?"

They looked at each other, then at Erik, confusion written on their faces. "Yes," replied Erik for them. "Right through here… " and he led them to their suite of rooms.

"Mother! Look! A bed all for me! And books! See? I told you he was building a palace for us!"

"My son, this is not a palace, but just a normal home…" and she turned to Erik, "But such a beautiful home! Thank you, monsieur!"

"Madam, you have only your son to thank, and yourself for raising such an honorable child. I am only reciprocating his kindness. Now, for tonight, just get yourselves settled, and your animals. Christine and I can manage for one more night on our own. In the morning we will want coffee and croissants in the dining room. I will show you where things are yet tonight. And, welcome to my home!"

"Ahmal, remember you have lessons after breakfast tomorrow."

"Yes, sir… and … "Ahmal rushed to Erik and threw his arms around him. "Monsieur Erik, this is the most wonderful place I have ever lived. I cannot thank you enough!"

Erik started at Ahmal's gesture, but then patted him on the shoulder and told him, "It was the least I could do. Besides, I needed the help, and the company." He pulled away from the boy, "Now, off to get yourself sorted out in your rooms."

Erik turned to Christine in the kitchen, "Well. Our household is increasing by leaps and bounds!"

Christine just smiled at him, "I'll say it is."

"We now have a housemaid, an errand boy, a goat, a bunch of chickens, two horses… "He cleared his throat and looked askance at Christine, "What's wrong?"

Christine hadn't moved from the pantry door, hadn't stopped smiling. "Nothing."

"You're hiding something…" He approached her, put his arms around her and tried to get her to move. "What are you hiding?"

"Meow!" came a tiny voice from Christine.

Erik looked at her, puzzled, as she reached inside of her apron bib and pulled out a very sleepy bronze-colored (Abyssinian) kitten. "Meow!" she protested.

"She was out in the courtyard."

Erik reached to pet her but she hissed at him. "Ho! Feisty little one, you are! I suppose we'll be needing a mouser, now that we'll be feeding chickens and have feed on the ground. Are you a good mouser, little one?"

She hissed at him again, though not as furiously as at first, then meowed and watched him carefully as he held her away from his face to study her. "Yes. You look like you'll be a fine mouser! What shall we call you? Hmm… you look like some of the royal cats I have seen in Egypt. Maybe we should call you 'Bastet'?

"Meow," she answered and blinked her auburn eyes at him.

"Then Bastet it is!" and he handed the kitten back to Christine before embracing her. "I missed you terribly." And kissed her with the kitten held between them. "Do we have a place for her?"

"I had thought the pantry for now? Just until she learns her way around us, maybe?"

"Hmm… I'd better tell Fatima and Ahmal so they don't shoo her out of the house!" He grinned as Christine gigged, then wrapped her arms around him once more.

"You are simply amazing! Who would ever have thought that the fierce Phantom could be so gentle with a kitten? I love you." She snuggled her head against his chest, listening to his strong, steady heartbeat and the rumbling in his chest when he began to chuckle. "What's so funny?"

He pulled back a bit, "You. You are funny and sweet and so very caring and loving and…"

She kissed him to get him to stop. "Enough!" she said with a giggle.

"Hmm… alright. You go and show Fatima where things are and prepare some supper while Ahmal and I feed and settle the animals." And he gave her another kiss. "And don't forget to tell her about Bastet!"

She kissed him back, "I won't."

He studied her for a moment before saying, "You know, if we keep this up," another kiss, "we won't get anything done."

"Uh-huh. So?"

Just then Erik's stomach began to growl.

She smiled, "I see your point," and giggled and poked him in the stomach.

"Ahmal! Come with me," Erik called. "We have some work to do."

The boy came running, "I am here, Monsieur Erik! I have been looking at all the books! Some have the most beautiful pictures, and maps, but some are all printed words and numbers that I do not understand!"

"It won't be long before you are begging me for more books! But right now we need to feed the animals and make a place for the hens to lay their eggs so we don't step on them."

"Yes sir!" and they both headed out through the courtyard to the stables.

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The very next day while Ahmal was at the construction site, Erik and Christine ventured out of their new home to explore their surroundings as man and wife. Of course they knew the layout of the town, but it all felt new and somehow different now that they were united as one. Erik had wanted to retrieve some more of his drawing implements and parchments from his room at the brothel and Christine wanted to get a few more of her accessories from her room there as well. Christine had also wanted to do some shopping at the local souk, but they decided that they could wait for another day for that adventure. The weather was pleasant as they strolled arm in arm down the narrow streets.

As they neared the Babineau House they were accosted by a group of French officers heading in the same direction, rudely pushing people aside so they could hurry to their destination.

"Hold on there!" commanded Erik when they had shoved Christine into him. "Show a bit of courtesy, will you! Apologize to the lady."

Their leader spun about with fists ready for a confrontation, "Why should I? I am a French Legionnaire and on an urgent mission, and you are in my way!"

Christine gasped when she saw that it was none other than Raoul facing them with his fists balled up. Raoul reached out for her just as Erik wrapped an arm around her to pull her out of harm's way. "Christine! My God! I can't believe it! I've found you at last!"

Erik realized that Raoul hadn't yet recognized him, so he drew himself up to his full height and announced, "Pardon me, but the lady's name is Madam Mulheim, and I'll thank you to apologize to her and be on your way."

Raoul, undeterred, hardly glanced up at Erik even though it seemed he had grown to even greater stature, "Look, I don't know who you are, but this woman is my fiancée whom I have been seeking ever since she was spirited away from me in Paris."

Christine had had enough and did not want this to end up in an altercation. She pulled her arm out of Raoul's grasp, saying, "Raoul, will you never take 'No' for an answer? I told you I was done with you back in Paris. We made our way here and are now husband and wife, so please, just leave us alone."

" 'We'? Who is this 'we' you speak of? We all know the _thing_ you lavished your affections upon back at the opera house is long dead," he said, reaching back out for her. "So, have you acquired another freak to take his place?"

She struggled to free herself from his grasp and Erik took a step to intervene when a mounted police officer happened upon them, "Monsieur Mulheim, can I be of assistance? Is there a problem here?"

Raoul glared at Erik and suddenly had a strange feeling about this man.

"No, Andre, not at all," replied Erik in a level voice, "These men were just asking for directions," and he turned to Raoul, "Good day, Messieurs," and bowed slightly and placing an arm across her back, led Christine away from the group of men toward a route that would take them to the back entrance to the brothel.

"Hey! Wait! You can't do that!" Raoul cried out and was about to go after them when the officer positioned his horse in Raoul's way.

"Hold on there!"

"He's running off with my fiancée! You have to stop him!"

"Monsieur! Desist in your pursuit! The woman is _not_ your fiancée!"

Raoul continued to struggle against the officer, who had since dismounted and was attempting to restrain Raoul. "Of course she is! I have known her since we were children!"

"You don't understand, Monsieur. That is his wife!"

"We often played together by the seaside in Perros. We used to… his wife?" He looked from the officer to Christine, "Christine!"

By now his companions were helping the officer to subdue him while he shouted at them ,"Let me go! I have to stop them!" until they had him pinned to the pavement and he finally relented. "Alright. Let me up. Let me up! Unhand me! I am the Vicomte de Chagny. Let go of me!"

They warily released him, tensed for any sign of him trying once again to pursue the couple while he continued to fume, "How dare that foreign ape make off with my fiancée! How dare he claim to be her husband! It's a lie, I tell you!"

"It is not a lie, Monsieur. Let me assure you, I attended their wedding myself, not a fortnight since. And might I point out that it is _you_ who is the foreigner here."

Raoul looked at the gendarme and silently fumed. _Of course he would think that way. All these foreigners here in a French colony! And who did that goon think he was, dragging his fiancée away like that? And from right under his nose! He had to find out who that was. Something about him… He cleared his throat, _"Excuse me, Officer, if I may? Could you tell me who that man was? I actually seem to have recognized him from somewhere…"

"That was our distinguished architect, Monsieur Mulheim. He is responsible for the restoration of the basilica. Have you seen it? They say it rivals even the one in Algiers."

"Mulheim, Mulheim… I feel I should know that name. Do you know where he comes from? His French is very good for a native of Africa."

"They say he comes from many lands, most recently from France. But now we call him our own as we are all very proud of his accomplishments here."

"His accomplishments?"

"Why, yes," replied the gendarme, "aside from the basilica, he has begun construction of a new library and an opera house. Under his guidance Birkhadem will soon rival Algiers, maybe even Paris!"

"Hey!" shouted one of his companions, "I thought you were in a rush to get to the Babineau House?"

"Why?" asked Raoul angrily. "I have found Christine, and she apparently has found someone of a different ilk than myself. And if we are to believe the gendarme, she is now married. How can I compete with that?"

"Haha! What better reason to visit a whore house, mon ami?" And he threw an arm over Raoul's shoulder and led him on down the street. His other companion looked up at the gendarme, shrugged his shoulders and hurried to catch up.

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"Erik…" Once they were out of view Christine turned toward Erik and wrapped an arm around him.

"Sh-h, my love. He's not going to cause any more trouble."

"But he's found us!"

" You're my wife now, and there's nothing he can do about that. I don't know why he's here in Algeria… maybe there are more French forces being assembled to corral the rebels. Or maybe he's here on holiday with some friends from the army. In any event, you are safe with me." He pulled her even closer and kissed her forehead before they continued on their way. "Besides, I don't think he even recognized who I was!"

"But if he has us followed…" she looked into his eyes, fearful and searching.

He pulled her to him and nestled her head against his chest. "You're with me now, we are united. You are under my protection and this time the law is on _our_ side."

"That has never stopped him or his family from getting what they want. Erik, I'm scared."

"We will just have to make sure that whenever you go anywhere that you are accompanied either by myself or by guards. I will not allow him to abrogate our happiness."

She looked up at him, hopefully, with her doe eyes pleading with him and he just melted. He pulled her to himself and kissed her, despite the fact that they were on a public street in full daylight.

While they were so engaged, a group of local men walked past them, chuckling quietly and murmuring under their breath, but Erik could pick out one of the Arabic words, "Newlyweds!" Erik peeked up over Christine's head and gave them a wink.

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	11. Chapter 11

**I cannot thank Filhound enough for her help with this story. She knows so much about the cultures and history of this area, and has helped me to keep this story within the realm of possibility. And thank you to those who have read and reviewed and to those who have just read. Things are about to get interesting again!**

**Unfortunately, I don't own Erik or any of the other characters from the show or the book – just the OC's.**

**Revenge Chapter 11**

After spending one of the last days of their leave in the city of Algiers, De Ville and his companions were on their way back to Birkhadem for one last fling before returning to Algiers to catch the ship back to their base at Mirs El Kebir when they ran into Raoul and his friend. "Bon Jour, Messeurs!" greeted Reynard with a flourish. "I suspect that, as rare as it is to find soldiers here in this little village, that you are on the same errand as we?"

Raoul spoke up, "Possibly, Monsieur. We are seeking the whereabouts of Madame Babineau's Maison du Plaisirs."

"Ah! Then we are indeed in pursuit of the same entertainment! My name is Reynard deVille," he said, extending his hand.

Raoul looked up, his eyes filled with questions, perking up at the sound of a noblese name in a person incongruously adorned in the accoutrements of the _Battalion of Light of Africa._ He clicked his heels together and nodded his head slightly, "Le Vicomte de Chagny, recently arrived from Paris, at your service."

"Ah! You are in for a treat. These girls are all you have ever dreamed of. Big melons!" chimed in another soldier, gesturing as if he had large breasts.

"Soft lips," added the third, "sweet breath."

"And oh, so pretty!" added the first soldier.

"And all of them clean as a whistle!" offered de Ville. "It's sometimes hard to believe that it's actually a brothel."

"They'll make you forget all about your troubles!" said the first soldier as they again began moving along the road.

"Well, to be honest, that was not the nature of my errand," intoned Raoul evenly. "I have come seeking information."

"Aye, but it don't hurt to mix a little pleasure in with you business, now, does it?" chimed in one of the soldiers.

Raoul grinned slyly, "Well, no, I suppose not…"

"See there? Gotta keep your options open!"

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It was her dream all over again. She anxiously watched as the soldiers entered her establishment and the girls came out to meet them. When Reynard began to approach one of the girls, she took a breath to calm herself before smoothly intervening, asking if he wouldn't prefer someone more… experienced? Her voice was so silky, so alluring that he couldn't seem to control his own feet as she guided him toward her room. As he drew near, he began to experience a sort of euphoria. Was it from her fragrance? From the scented candles arrayed near the door to her room? Inside the room there were incense burners and candles that gave off heavenly fragrances that made him almost dizzy and feeling a bit tipsy.

On a table near the bed stood two glasses and a decanter of some dark amber liquid. Cognac. She poured two glasses of it for them, then sat in a Victorian style stuffed chair, lounging wantonly, tantalizingly, holding her glass and taking a sip from it.

He picked up the other glass and drank from it. "Cognac. Very nice! You really know how to treat your customers, Madam," he said, eyeing her hungrily.

When he set down his empty glass to approach her, she told him in a husky voice, "I know that you like unusual ways of making love. Because you have been such a good patron I have prepared a special room for you and I shall take care of you myself. I learned the art of being a great courtesan in Paris itself, and know most of the most exquisite ways of pleasing a man. I have been in the business since I was 12 years old. Because you brought so many of your friends here tonight I will 'entertain' you free of charge. My special gift to a special man."

She got up and led him to another room, also lit with fragrant candles . With an alluring smile she told him, "I know how you like to subjugate your women like a good soldier. This time it is my turn to 'subjugate' you."

He looked at Babette with hunger in his eyes. "Hmm I rather like that idea," but as he reached for her, and before his clouded mind could properly react, she had him chained to the bed and gagged.

She got up and cranked up a large ornate table model symphonium (spring wound music box) and with heavily lidded eyes she began to dance the "Dance of the Seven Veils" around him to the sounds coming from the instrument, teasing him shamelessly while staying just beyond his reach. Becoming a bit frustrated and more than aroused, he began to moan and to struggle against his bonds while the music box cranked out an earthy, monotonous clanging rhythm with ringing bells and smooth violin sounds and she danced. She danced as she'd never danced before, brushing her veils across his face so he could get a good whiff of the fragrance she'd infused them with, an intoxicating perfume guaranteed to cause him to lose all his inhibitions.

With a wicked smile she slowly unbuttoned his trousers and lowered them, sliding them down his legs. "Ungh…" he moaned. "You are too wicked, My Dear!" His words were only partly muffled by the small gag she had used. "Come back here and finish this before you drive me insane!"

Still dancing, she smiled at him and began to whirl, brushing her veils against his engorging manhood, whirling faster and faster to the music until it suddenly stopped. "I do know exactly what you like, but then I should_, Father_, since I watched you many times at all those whorehouses in Paris that you dragged me to. And when you sold me to that madam - sold your own daughter - to be used as a whore... You stole everything from me, my mother, my dowry and most of all my innocence and now I am going to do the same to you, take something that you prize above all...Your manhood!" she reached out with a very beautiful dagger with a very sharp curved blade and before his besotted and drugged mind could make sense of what was happening, she sliced off his member cleanly. He was vaguely aware of a sharp pain in his crotch and looked up to see her holding his member in her hand, blood and semen spurting from his crotch.

When the shock cleared, he let out a blood curdling screech, and drew his legs up as best he could. "What have you done? You're insane!" and he yowled for help.

She came closer with the thing in her hand and his eyes grew larger as she showed it to him and then when he opened his mouth to holler again shoved it into his mouth behind the gag. "You always did stick your thing where it didn't belong. Now you can go screw yourself…. DEAR FATHER!" His eyes grew even larger at that and he began to struggle against his bonds, but she was good and the chains held. "_You_ who never had any respect for Mother or for me, or for any woman, see what all of your fatherly care has created?" She picked up a towel and shoved it into his crotch to try to stem the bleeding before retrieving her unfinished drink and sitting down in the easy chair to wait for his rescuers.

Erik had been in his old room in the brothel, gathering pens and nibs and sheaves of parchment when he heard a horrible scream, followed by wailing and shouting. Fearing that Babette or one of the other girls might be in trouble, he rushed to the source of the sounds, finding a soldier chained to Babette's bed, trying to remove something from his mouth that was muffling his shouts. A red stain was spreading on a towel in his crotch as he tried to squeeze his knees together, then to spread his legs apart, all the while trying to shout for help.

Erik's hackles rose along with his anger. "What have you done? Give me the key to his shackles , Now!" He felt as if he were looking at a stranger, seeing her calmly sitting there with a smirk on her face. After releasing the man, he sent one of the men who had arrived to get more towels from the bathroom.

Once the object was out of his mouth, Reynard began shouting at Babette, "You bitch! You crazy bitch! I loved your mother, but you're as much of a bitch as she was! Always wanting her way in this and that, wanting a new dress – OW! Be careful you clumsy fool! Can't someone get her out of here?" as the other men arrived in the room, gaping at him and the blood-stained towels in his crotch, they too tried awkwardly to help.

"I wouldn't think of leaving your side, _Dear Father_! Don't you feel the need for female companionship in moments like this? A family member to ease your anxious heart? Oh, that's right! I forgot. You don't have one."

Erik grabbed Babette by the arm and pulled her out of the room. The other girls had begun to gather in the hallway, wondering what w as happening, so Erik told them to take her to one of their rooms and keep her there. "Tie her down if you must, but do not let her leave!" Then he turned to one of the girls, "Do you have ice here?" When she nodded he told her, "Go fill a tablecloth with some of the ice and bring it back here… Quickly, now!"

Erik picked up the bottle of cognac and sniffed at it, then handed it to one of the men working on Reynard, "Here, get him to drink some of this." When the man hesitated, he added, "I know it's bad to give alcohol to someone who is bleeding, but this has been drugged and it will help to ease the pain of transporting him. One of you get a chair from the kitchen."

Ahmal had followed Erik to the brothel, trying to deliver a message from his mother. When Erik heard the screams, he had told Ahmal to wait in Erik's room, but Ahmal, never one to avoid some new experience, ran after him. When Erik opened the door, Ahmal skidded to a halt and before he could stop himself, called out "Father!" He immediately covered his mouth with both hands as Erik looked at him aghast.

"Get out of here, boy! This is no place for you!" shouted Reynard. "Someone get him out of here!"

" 'Father?' " asked Erik "This man is your father too?"

"Yes, he is my father, the dog!"

"Why don't you just kill him? He's just a stupid dog!"

"Ahmal, he is a human being. You don't just kill people without a just cause. He isn't hurting either of us anymore now, so I need to help him and get him to a hospital. And you need to go with the women. I think there is someone there that you should meet."

"Yeah? Who? I am a man. I don't go with women!" he said defiantly.

"Your sister." The defiance and color drained from Ahmal's face.

Just then the girl entered with the tablecloth of ice chips tied into a bundle. Erik took it from her and told her , "Thank you, Yasmin. One more thing? Please take Ahmal to your mistress. I will be along shortly." He then took the packet of ice and set it on top of the smallest towel in Reynard's crotch. It wasn't long before he began howling to take it away.

"It's either that or let you bleed to death!"

"Hey, shouldn't we get him to a hospital?" Erik cringed when he heard that voice and was careful not to turn around.

"Wait! Ahmal! Do you know where the closest hospital is?" Erik asked.

"Of course I know where it is! but I'm not taking the likes of him there. They don't allow dogs in the hospital!"

"Waddya mean you won't help?" asked one of the soldiers angrily. "Can't ya see he's dying? He may be a wretched commanding officer, but he might not make it if we don't get help!" He reached out to grab Ahmal but Erik intervened, grabbing the man's arm and glaring back at him, slowly twisting the man's arm around behind him.

"Don't you even THINK of laying a hand on him!" Erik drew himself to his full intimidating height and glared at the man, fire shooting from his eyes as he thundered out, "This young man is my ward and you will not lay a hand on him, to your own peril. Understood?"

The soldier backed away toward Reynard, nodding his head as Erik stooped in front of Ahmal,

"Look Ahmal, your father is bleeding to death, I know that he has done some horrible things but do you truly want his death on your conscience? His death will haunt you if you do not show them the way to the hospital. You know the fastest way to get there, better than anyone else here. You may think that it is justice to let him die right now but you might think something else later. Remember he is your father, he gave you your life; now you should help preserve his."

Ahmal looked from Erik to the soldiers to his father before nodding, "Alright. I will do this. Just be sure you can keep up with me!"

"You!"

Erik looked up and too late realized he was face to face with Raoul, who had watched the entire exchange, amazed that Erik had been right there in front of him all this time and yet remained unrecognized by him.

"You! I thought there was something about you!" and he took a step toward Erik.

"Not now, Fop, this man's life is more important. We need four men to get him to the hospital, and that includes you."

They stared at each other, each tensed for the confrontation that seemed inevitable.

Raoul fisted his hands in frustration, thinking, _Just who does he think he is? Ordering people around like he was the one in charge, like an officer. He's still nothing more than a freak, although it's true that Reynard's life is in the balance. But how can I be sure I will be able to locate him after we are done at the hospital? And why does he appear so very… different? So normal? And what has he done with Christine? Can it be true that they are now husband and wife? And if that's true, what about the rest of what that gendarme said, about him being a respected member of this community? He must have hypnotized the lot of them! Yet the man said that he was a great architect here. Well, maybe he knows how to pile blocks on top of each other, but he's certainly no architect. At any rate, this man needs to reach the hospital and that is of paramount importance. For now, anyway._

Erik tensed, waiting for Raoul to explode, but watched as the vitriol in his eyes turned to questioning and confusion and finally to resignation before he let his defenses down and relaxed the tension in his shoulders.

"Very well. Have it your way for now," announced Raoul. "We will deal with this later." He gave Erik one last angry look before turning back to see what a corpsman was doing with Reynard.

The man who had been working on the wound sat back on his heels, "Well, the good news is that the cut was clean but it did cut the front of both legs. I'm afraid walking will be out of the question."

They looked from one to another, Reynard's yowling growing more and more subdued as he grew weaker from loss of blood and dopier from the drugged cognac. When one of the soldiers entered the room with a kitchen chair, they laid him on it, then strapped him securely in place before each picking up either a chair leg or one side of the chair back and started toward the back door, the bundle of melting ice perched on top of him.

But as they passed the room where Babette was, she came to the door to look. The men paused and looked at her with disgust, "What's got into you, woman? Are you mad? We're never coming back here again! You can be sure of that!"

She stood erect and told them, "I have no quarrel with you. This man is my father. He had no use for either myself or my mother and let her die of a cold, too cheap to buy simple medicines that would have cured her. Afterward he sold me to a brothel so he could pocket that money and my dowry to buy a position in the army!" When they looked at him and then back to her, she added, "That's right! He bought his rank and his position. He's no more an officer than I am! This is something he has deserved for a long, long time."

"Maybe we should just leave him here?" queried one of the soldiers. "Save everyone a lot of trouble. He's a mean one he is, always has been."

"But we can't just leave him here. We'd all be accessories to murder and that would be the end for us!"

"So, in any case we have to get him to the hospital," said Raoul.

One of the soldiers gruffly ordered, "Let's get going, kid!"

Ahmal looked at Erik as if for permission. Erik nodded and told him, "Go ahead, but come right back."

"Oui, Monsieur!" and he headed out the door, followed by the corpsman and then the other soldiers

through the winding back alleys of Birkhadem to the hospital.

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The girls had been hovering in one of the rooms, talking about what to do next. "I say we get out of here before the gendarmes get here," stated a tall dark-haired girl in her late twenties.

"Why should we?" asked a petite blonde girl with big cow eyes. "After all, they come here as often as anyone else."

"But after this, can we be sure anyone will come? Or maybe they'll come seeking revenge?"

"I doubt it. I don't think they thought much of him in the first place. Did you see the one guy sniggering behind his hand?"

"And we still have Squelch to keep an eye on things. The question is, can we run this place by ourselves until Babette returns?"

"IF she returns." They looked from one to the other, each afraid to speak first.

The tall dark-haired girl broke the silence, "Well, as long as Squelch stays around, and Monsieur Khan, I vote to stay and keep working as usual. After all, we do have a very good reputation."

"And a steady flow of customers from the docks," added the blonde girl.

"I'll see if Monsieur Khan can help me keep the books," suggested the dark-haired girl. I used to help my mother do that for our family grocery business in Paris. With Monsieur Khan's help I'm sure I could do it now."

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Babette was beginning to feel the effects of the cognac, and to second-guess herself, wondering whether she'd done the right thing. _Did he really deserve this? Yes! Of course he did!_ _After _ _all the pain he had caused her mother, her mother's sickness and death then her own agony of watching her mother die and not being able to do anything to help, while her father spent their money on drink and women. Then when her mother had died and he found the money her mother had put away for her and took it himself and added it to what he got by selling her to a brothel, leaving her penniless… Yes. He did deserve this! He definitely deserved this! But then why do I feel so bad for him? _She looked at Erik who was beginning to look like a stern father , not yet sure what to make of all of this.

"How long have you known about him?"

She looked around and then at the floor, "Since Paris."

Erik was growing concerned that they might return and drag her off to the gendarmerie. "So all of this was just an elaborate way of getting back at your father?"

She nodded.

Erik grabbed her by the arm and stormed at her, "You lied to me, girl!"

"No! I didn't!" and she pulled her arm away from Erik's grasp. "I didn't lie to you, not exactly… I just didn't tell you why I needed the money, needed to create a brothel in Algiers. It was just simple revenge for all the grief he's caused for my mother and for me over the years."

"Come with me," he said in a milder tone, yet one that was commanding and brooked no argument to the contrary. He escorted her back to her room. "Pack a bag and come home with us. Until the furor from this dies down you'll be staying with us."

"Why? I can still do my work here, once I clean this place up, replace the towels and the bedding and…" she said, gesturing around at the mess in the bedroom.

"You aren't safe here. Not only have you mutilated a soldier, but you are a woman! Some of those soldiers will likely come back looking for you. You can't stay here. Your chances in the courts depends on how sympathetic the judge is. He may go easy on you if he considers the treatment you and your mother have received at the hands of your father. But until then, you will need to stay out of the public eye."

Reluctantly, she packed a bag with some day dresses and cosmetics and things, then followed Erik to where Christine was still busy packing up their things.

"Darling? It seems we will be having another house guest for awhile. You remember Babette?"

She looked up then crossed the room with her arms extended for an embrace, "Of course I do, Erik! And of course you are welcome in our home. After all, it's only been a little over a week since we were guests in yours!" She gave Babette a hug before showing Erik the bags and boxes she had packed of their things to be carried back to the house.

Erik looked at them with misgivings, "You didn't tell me we'd be needing the burro!"

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